Crusaders 3: A Family Affair
by San Antonio Rose
Summary: When Meg nearly gets the better of Gabriel and Castiel, Chronos decides to intervene, throwing two sets of nearly-identical brothers into a race against time. They're determined to ensure that "what was" will remain "what shall never be"... but is Gabriel right that some things never change?
1. Prologue

A/N: As promised, the tale continues with no intermission! This story is finished, and I'll be posting a chapter a day. The cover art is by jbadgr.

* * *

Crusaders 3: A Family Affair  
By San Antonio Rose

Prologue

Chronos didn't know why he was drawn to this particular location on this particular day. It felt like a whim, yet he had the niggling sense that the idea was not wholly his own. The place was deserted, though, so he couldn't imagine why Atropos or some power still higher than the Fates would have sent him there...

... until the demon appeared.

She was wearing a college student, Meg Masters, and hummed a happy little tune as she set out the supplies she needed for her spell. The more she laid out, the clearer her purpose became, and the angrier Chronos grew.

Several leaps ago, he had just been pulled back to ancient times when he sensed the timeline shifting, and after he'd told Aeneas his future and taken his usual tribute, he and Atropos had had a long chat about the future that had been changed in AD 1148. Both of them knew enough about the timeline that had been to suspect that everyone but Lucifer was better off for the change, so they hadn't tried to nudge history back onto the course certain factions thought it should have taken. But this demon was about to attempt that very thing, and while Chronos couldn't be entirely sure what form Lucifer's plan could take now, he was quite sure he wouldn't survive whether it succeeded or failed. And he couldn't leave his lovely Lila a widow before they were wed... not this time.

He started forward from the shadows—and suddenly found himself in Rome circa 44 BC, launching hip-hop epithets at a very startled Marc Antony.

After making some suitably vague noises about Egypt and collecting adequate tribute, Chronos sat back to think. Even with the amount of power he'd gained here, he couldn't be certain that he could get back to AD 2005 in time to stop the demon; he might arrive too late to stop her, or he might arrive too early and be pulled away again. What he needed was some way to ensure a warning arrived in time for someone else to stop her.

"You're looking thoughtful, Chronos," Atropos observed as she walked up to him. "Anything I can help with?"

He sighed. "Maybe so." And he told her what he'd seen.

She nodded slowly. "And you're afraid Lucifer will find some way to make Sam Winchester his vessel even though it's too late for his blood to be corrupted."

"Exactly."

She tapped her quill against her ledger for a moment, then smiled slowly. "What if he couldn't be sure he had the right Samuel, son of John?"

He frowned. "I don't think—" And then his eyes went wide as he caught her drift. "Oh. Oh, that is brilliant. That's worthy of _Loki_."

"Annnd I can tell you where they'll beee..."

He grinned. "What would I owe you?"

"For this? Not a denarius." She started flipping through the codex that currently served as her ledger and found the information he needed. "Just see to it that the plan stays derailed."

"I think, for once, that's a promise I can keep," he replied before brushing a chaste kiss on her cheek and heading off to do what needed to be done.


	2. Chapter 1: Another Fine Mess

A/N: For the record, and as my lovely beta jennytork can verify, I started this chapter back in _June_, and the story as a whole has been finished since the end of October. (I have to wonder, though, whether Robbie Thompson read "Red Fell the Dew in Rammas Echor" before going to work on SPN...)

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Chapter 1  
Another Fine Mess

_June 4, 2005_

"So we're meeting Sam and Jess at the campground?" Gabriel asked as he and Dean left their hotel in South Lake Tahoe after breakfast.

"Yeah," Dean confirmed, "Sammy didn't think they could afford the extra night at the hotel. The events don't really start until 10, and it's only three and a half hours from Palo Alto, so they left around 6. Should give 'em time to change when they get there."

Gabriel nodded and stifled a chuckle. The Dean he'd known in another timeline had secretly loved wearing cool costumes and playing pretend but never had the time, money, or familial support to indulge his interest once he was old enough to start hunting with John more often than not. This Dean not only loved reenacting but had managed to rook Sam, Jess, and his wife Amanda into going to forts and Renaissance fairs with him. In fact, the only reason Amanda wasn't with them for the Valhalla Faire this year was that she was very pregnant with their third child and didn't think she could fit into her usual dress or corral four-year-old Johnny and two-year-old Bobbi Jo for two days. Dean had already bought two tickets when she'd come to that conclusion, so Gabriel had offered to go instead.

He hadn't told anyone but Castiel that he had a sneaking suspicion he'd be needed.

"Actually," Dean said once they were in the Impala and on the road, "since we have some time, I've been meaning to get your advice on something."

Gabriel shrugged. "Shoot."

"My hitch is up at the end of the month, and I can't decide whether or not to re-up. I mean, I love what I do, and we are at war, and it's not like I have another job lined up. But I never get to see the kids, and after that scare with Dad's heart last month... I just... I dunno what I should do."

_Gabriel_, Castiel suddenly called.

_Hold up_, Gabriel thought back. "That's a tough call, Deano. Family's important, but you do need a job to provide—"

_Gabriel, I'm TRAPPED!_

Gabriel stopped in mid-sentence, his mouth left open and the color draining from his face. _What kind of trap?_

_Holy oil._

_Damn. I'll be there in five—gotta ditch the kids._

Dean frowned. "Uncle Gabe?"

_Gabriel..._

_I will be there as fast as I can, Castiel. Hold tight._

"Uncle Gabe, are you okay?"

Gabriel forced his eyes to focus on Dean again. "Yeah, sure, just—need to find a restroom when we get there."

"O-kay..."

"Dean, listen. Your family's going to need you soon. Don't re-up, and be prepared not to find a job in San Diego."

Dean's frown deepened. "You think we should move back to Lawrence?"

"I don't know yet. That might not be safe, either."

"Uncle Gabe—"

"I can't tell you what I don't know, Dean. What I can tell you is this: there's another war coming that's got nothing to do with what's happening in the Middle East. And you mooks are going to be smack dab in the middle of it."

"Me and Amanda?"

"You and Sam."

Dean's hands tightened on the wheel as he nudged the car to five miles an hour above the speed limit. If there was one thing that killing Azazel in 1148 hadn't changed in this day, it was the fierce love and loyalty that marked the brotherly bond between Dean and Sam.

Sam and Jess weren't waiting for them in the parking lot when they arrived, so Gabriel checked in at the gate with Dean and then excused himself to find a restroom. As soon as he found a convenient tent to duck behind, however, he took off for Castiel's location, which turned out to be the chapel of St. Mary's Convent in Ilchester, MD. The sisters, he sensed quickly, were alive and well and going about their daily business, but poor Castiel was trapped in a circle of holy fire in front of the altar. He had placed an alarm in the chapel in '72 to alert him if a demon entered; since he'd caught and killed Alastair four years earlier, they'd been playing cat-and-mouse with Meg, never quite managing to get off a shot with the Colt before she fled. This time it looked like she'd come better prepared.

"What took so long?" Castiel snapped as soon as Gabriel appeared.

"I couldn't blow cover yet, bub," Gabriel shot back and snapped a fire extinguisher into his hand. "Cover your eyes."

Castiel did so, and Gabriel put out the fire as quickly as he could.

"We have no time to lose," Castiel stated as soon as he was free. "The demon plans to use a busload of schoolchildren as her sacrifice to contact Lucifer; she believes the virginity matters more than the vocation."

"Where?"

"Stull Cemetery."

Gabriel swore. Then he sent his thoughts back toward Lake Tahoe and swore again. "Go stop that bus, brother mine. I gotta get back to Dean."

Castiel frowned. "Why?"

"He's about to run into the wrong Sam!"

* * *

Well, this was certainly not the way Dean of Winchester had thought his visit to Rievaulx in October of 1150 would go when he bade farewell to his wife Joanna, mother-in-law Ellen, and housemate Brother Asce in Oxenford.

He and Samuel had been chatting merrily in the abbey's guesthouse when a male figure in strange garb had appeared, grabbed each brother by the shoulder, and pulled them away in a burst of red light without so much as a by-your-leave. When the light had faded, the person had pressed a piece of parchment into Dean's hand, said "_Me paenitet huius_," and vanished, leaving the brothers staring about in shock at the strange forest where they'd been stranded. Dean had no idea where they were, only that the evergreens around them were mostly types of pine that he did not know well and that unfamiliar mountain peaks stood near enough to be seen through the trees. He thought he could see a lake in the distance as well. The temperature was already on the warm side of pleasant, though it seemed to be only mid-morning.

"Look thou," Samuel said suddenly and pointed.

Dean looked where his brother was pointing and saw a number of tents standing not far away, and people milling about among them, almost like... "A fair, think thou?"

"May be."

"Ought we to go see?"

"I know not. What sayeth that parchment?"

Dean looked down at it and frowned. "'Meg Ma-Mæst-ers, June 4, 2005, Stull Ch-Chemet—' blast. I wit this word not. Canst make out aught?"

Samuel took the parchment. "'Stull Ch—' nay, 'tis some Englished form of _cemeterium_. 'Lawrence, Kan-sas. Con-tak-ting'—some form of _contactus_, perchance?—'L-Lucifer'?!"

Dean blinked. "Lucifer—as in the Devil?!"

"Aye." Samuel handed the parchment back, his eyes wide.

Dean swore. "Well, this is a _gamenwað_. We're in a place we don't know with a note we can't read about someone doing something with the Devil in some churchyard on a day I deem is over 850 years after our own. What the hell do we do now?"

Samuel sighed and shrugged. "Go to the fair, I deem. Perchance someone there will know aught."

Dean likewise sighed and tucked the parchment into his tunic. "Not even a good fighting weapon have I; my sword is still at Rievaulx."

"'Tis a fair, thou goose. Buy aught." And Samuel started off toward the clearing.

Grumbling, Dean followed.

Once they reached the fair, however, it quickly became clear that they were further out of their depth than they had deemed at first. Few of the fairgoers were dressed in garb that looked even slightly familiar, and a number of the women were—ahem—more scantily clad than a monk and a wedded man should be near. Some, indeed, openly named themselves _courtesans_, a word Dean knew not but could understand well enough from the amount of red in their garments. Many of the fairgoers seemed foreign, too—Moors, Spaniards, Italians, and Danes he knew, and a handful of Turks and Arabs, but there were a great many yellow- and brown-skinned people he could not place. It was not long before he began to feel wholly lost.

And shortly after that, he found that he'd lost Samuel.

Cursing quietly, Dean started looking around more carefully. It ought to have been easy to find a tall monk in Cistercian white even in a throng like this, but unlike at most of the fairs they had been to, Samuel was not the tallest person here; indeed, he was almost average, even among the women. Dean couldn't think where he could have left Samuel behind. There had been a booth selling books, he thought, or perchance the scarlet women had grabbed him—

"Dean!"

Relieved, Dean turned... and found himself staring at a face out of a showing.

* * *

Meanwhile, still pondering Uncle Gabe's cryptic advice, Dean Winchester finished browsing the selection at the swordsmith's booth with a dissatisfied sigh and concluded that none of the blades currently on display were ones he needed to add to Sam's collection. The fact that Uncle Gabe wasn't back yet worried him, as did the fact that he hadn't found Sam and Jess. He and Gabe hadn't brought their cell phones, and Sam hadn't said what he'd be wearing when they spoke last.

Sighing again, he turned and spotted a familiar figure in a white monk's habit poring over the books at the bookseller's tent.

Dean laughed in relief and crossed to the other tent. "Hey, Brother Sammy! No wonder you wouldn't tell me what you were wearing!"

The monk jumped and stared at Dean in shock.

"What's the matter, you shrink or something?" Dean teased further. "Where's Jess?"

"_Hwæt?_"

The smile fell off Dean's face. The guy in the monk's costume was a dead ringer for Sam, but the accent of that question was all wrong, and he was definitely about five inches shorter than he should have been. The moles on his face were in the wrong place, too, Dean realized belatedly. "Uh, sorry, I thought—"

"Dean!" Jess called, and as Dean turned, he thought he caught the monk crossing himself.

"Jess!" he called back. "Where've you guys been?"

"We've got a problem!" She waved him over.

Dean turned back to the monk. "Uh, 'scuse—"

But the monk was headed toward Jess at just short of a run. Frowning, Dean jogged after him, following Jess behind a tent—

—and came face to face with a shorter, bearded version of... himself, circa the mid-twelfth century.

And there was Sammy, _his_ Sammy, in a blue outfit that probably dated from 1450, staring at the monk and swearing in the same kind of shock Dean seemed to be feeling.

"_Hwæt þe bloden hel, Samuel?_" Dean's double asked the monk in a surprised near-squeak.

"_Ic nat, Denu_," the monk replied, sounding panicked. "_He findaþ me_—"

"Whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa," Dean interrupted. "_Your_ names are Sam and Dean, _too_?"

The doubles looked at each other for a moment, lost, before Denu ventured, "Ay?"

"_Latine loquitis?_" asked Brother Samuel with an awkwardly hopeful smile.

"What?" Sam and Dean asked at the same time.

"Sam, what's going on?" Jess asked.

And before anyone else could ask anything else, they were all interrupted by a groan of, "Oh, _great._"

"Gabriel!" cried Denu and Brother Samuel at the same time Sam and Dean cried, "Uncle Gabe!"—and with the same level of relief, too, which was weird.

Uncle Gabe held up his hands. "Not here."

"_Ac, Gabriel_—" Denu objected, reaching into his shirt.

"_Ic sagaþ, na her_," Uncle Gabe replied.

Brother Samuel burst into a torrent of Latin as Denu pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to Uncle Gabe, who sighed and took it.

Uncle Gabe then looked at the paper and grimaced. "Thanks for the payback, Chronos," he muttered.

"What?!" everyone else exclaimed.

Uncle Gabe rolled his eyes and folded up the paper to stick in his money pouch. "_Not. Here._ I'll explain at the hotel. Sam, Jess, go get us some coffee and doughnuts; this could take a while. _Denu, Samuel,_ _cumaþ yeow wið us._"

Dean frowned. "I almost understood that."

Uncle Gabe huffed. "You should. It's Old English."

Sam and Dean both opened their mouths to ask a question—probably the same question—but shut them again when Uncle Gabe glared at them. "Not here," Sam repeated. "Right. Gotcha. So, Jess, doughnuts?"

"Doughnuts, yes, doughnuts," Jess agreed a little too hastily. "Uh, same hotel as last time, Dean?"

"Right, yeah," Dean replied with a nod. "We'll... we'll see you guys there."

As Sam and Jess beat a hasty retreat, Denu nudged Brother Samuel and whispered something that made Brother Samuel turn bright red and reply, "Deeenuuu..."

"Some things never change," Uncle Gabe murmured.

Dean sighed. "Okay. Uh, cometh with us, guys." And he and Uncle Gabe led Denu and Brother Samuel out of the fairgrounds and to the parking area.

The doubles didn't say much on the way out, but as soon as they spotted the Impala, they both gasped. Uncle Gabe said something Dean didn't catch, but while Brother Samuel looked kind of nervous as they walked up to the car, Denu was staring in open-mouthed wonder and put a hand almost reverently on the hood while Dean unlocked the doors.

"Like I said," Uncle Gabe sighed, opening the back passenger door for Brother Samuel. "Some things never change."

"Denu," Brother Samuel called, and Denu snapped out of it and hurried past Dean, who opened the door for him and let him climb into the back seat.

Once the back doors were closed, Dean looked across the car at Uncle Gabe. "Is this..."

Uncle Gabe grimaced. "No, but it's related."

Dean nodded his understanding—at least as much as he _could_ understand—and got in.

* * *

This was real. That was the only thought Samuel could get his head around as Young Dean steered the horseless wain (!) onto the road at a high gallop. It was different from the vision Castiel had given them—killing Azazel had made some changes, it seemed—but still... saints above, this was real.

And there were _dozens_ of the things _everywhere_, especially in the town, on the road and stopped around them beside buildings that looked nothing like anything Samuel had ever seen. Some, he guessed, were houses, but others had writing on them or signs in the (concrete!) yard nearer the road, and those he took to be shops. Some might have been taverns, but he couldn't tell for sure. Most of the words were unfamiliar, and they passed too quickly for Samuel to read many of them. However, two words appeared frequently enough that he thought they might be the name of the place where they found themselves.

"Any clues?" Dean whispered to him after a few minutes.

"A name, I deem," Samuel whispered back. "Lah-keh Tah-hoh-eh?"

"Layk Tah-ho," Young Dean supplied, looking at them in the mirror.

"Oh. My thanks." Well, they knew what a _lac_ was; only the spelling differed. He had never heard of a _tahoe_, though.

They were silent for the rest of the journey, though Dean tapped Samuel's knee and pointed out the window as they rounded a bend and the lake itself came into view, stretching away out of sight until it met the tall mountains beyond. He did not recognize it from any of the travelers' tales they had heard growing up or anything that had been described in any of the books he'd read. The height of the mountains made him think perchance they were in the Alps, but that make little sense with what he remembered of their visions of Young Samuel and Young Dean.

Samuel had just about given up on figuring out anything when the wain slowed and turned in at a blue sign that bore a red crown and the words _Best Western Plus_. That made no sense, and it was bad heraldic form as well, but Young Dean steered the wain around the building that stood nearest the road and stopped in a space marked with white lines in front of another building, this one two stories tall, quite long, with rough-hewn shingles on the roof rather than thatch, and the front wall filled with doors and with windows fitted with glass. Then the rumbling noise ceased, and Young Dean got out.

"Inn," Dean concluded as Young Dean opened the back door on his side. "This must be an inn."

Samuel hummed thoughtfully and got out when Gabriel opened his door for him. Together they followed Young Dean to a door with a slot above the handle; Young Dean slid a thin, rectangular piece of... something into the slot, and the door clicked as some mechanism unlocked it. Young Dean then opened the door and stood aside to let the others enter the room.

And such a room it was! Had Samuel any choice in the matter, he might have been breaking his vows to stay in such a place. The air was cool and fresh. The walls were plastered and whitewashed and bore framed paintings here and there; tapestries hung in front of the window, and another covered the floor from wall to wall. There were two beds, richly covered and each with _five_ bolsters at the head, along with two cushioned chairs covered in a cloth that felt like soft leather and another cushioned chair on wheels. There were lanterns that came on when Young Dean raised a small lever near the door, a mirror above a short wooden chest that held two sets of drawers, a wooden wardrobe, and another mirror, lighted from above, that hung above a stone shelf in which was set a basin and what turned out to be a tap for hot and cold running water. And beside _that_ stood a door that led into a private bathing room, lined with marble and brass and gleaming glazed tiles and a tub built into the wall with two taps of running water, one of which sprayed like a waterfall!

"What's this?" Dean asked Gabriel, pointing to another, covered device that stood beside the tub and looked big enough to sit upon but clearly was not a chair. "Chamber pot?"

"Same purpose," Gabriel replied, "but it's called a _toilet_. Once you've used it, you take some paper from that roll on the wall to clean yourself with, drop it in the basin. Then you push that down"—here he pointed toward the silver lever that stood on what looked like some sort of cistern above the seat—"and it empties and cleans itself."

"Huh!" both brothers exclaimed at once.

"Wash your hands when you're done," Gabriel added, pointing to the washbasin that stood near the toilet, likewise furnished with a water tap. "You should also wash your hands before and after you eat, and most people bathe at least once a day. If we stay here tonight, you'll have time to get the hang of it. There's a bar of soap in there, along with a soft soap you can use on your hair; and we can get you each your own flannel to wash with and your own towel to dry with. Plus, Dean, you're going to need some new clothes; Samuel, I'll find you a second robe so we can wash this one."

Samuel shook his head in bewilderment. "Gabriel, this... this is..."

Gabriel nodded. "I know. Welcome to middle-class life in the Year of Our Lord 2005."

"Two thousand and five?!" Samuel and Dean yelped, the tiled walls making their voices echo badly.

Young Dean called something Samuel didn't catch, and Gabriel called something back before turning back to Samuel and Dean. "I'll explain as soon as Sam and Jess get here. Come on."

Dean made a small overwhelmed noise and followed Gabriel out of the bathing room. Samuel took one last look around, shook his head, and followed as well.

Gabriel had just gotten Dean and Samuel seated on one of the beds—which was not stuffed with straw, but rather was made of some kind of cushioning around a set of springs that creaked a bit when they sat down—when Young Samuel arrived with his... wife? Betrothed? Sweetheart? Samuel knew not, but her name seemed to be Jess, and she was carrying a box of pastries, while Young Sam had a tray full of six cups of some fragrant drink Samuel could not place. Jess had a stack of parchment squares, too, one of which she used to lift one of the pastries out of the box to hand to Samuel. Young Sam followed with one of the cups, which he handed to Samuel with what sounded like a word of caution. Samuel guessed its meaning as soon as he took hold of the cup; though the walls were of some thick material he had never seen before, he could still feel the heat of the drink through them. He nodded his thanks, and Sam nodded back and moved on to Dean.

Samuel looked from the pastry to the drink and back, weighing which to taste first. Finally, he blew a bit on the hot drink to try to cool it, then took a careful sip. Not only was it _hot_, it was _strong_ and bitter, though there was cream in it and some kind of sweetener and another taste he could not place. He could not keep a surprised cough from escaping. Then he took another small sip to wet his mouth enough to try the pastry, which was very sweet and sticky and seemed to consist mainly of fried dough. Another mouthful of the drink helped wash the pastry down better than expected... but the combination triggered a sensation that was rather the opposite of getting drunk. He suddenly felt wide awake, almost restless. It did not seem to have the same effect on Young Dean or Sam, though; they and Jess were sitting in the chairs and drinking the stuff as if they had it every day.

Suddenly there was another knock at the door. Gabriel answered, and Castiel entered, talking to Gabriel in a low tone. Young Dean and Sam looked confused, and Young Dean asked Castiel something that Samuel almost caught. But before Castiel could answer, Gabriel said something and locked the door while Castiel drew the tapestries together to cover the window. Then Gabriel pressed a hand against the wall beside the door, releasing a burst of light and angelic power that Samuel sensed racing along the walls around them. Young Dean, Sam, and Jess looked even more confused.

And then Gabriel snapped his fingers. Samuel's ears popped—and he understood when Young Dean asked, "Uncle Gabe? What... what did you just do?"

Dean gasped. "I understood that."

Young Dean stared at him. "And I understood you."

"One thing at a time," Gabriel interrupted. "There's no way to sugar-coat this, so we'll have to go slow—and no comments on wasting time, Castiel. Yes, I removed the language barrier—temporarily. When I get these two back home, everything will go back to normal as far as that goes. I also warded this room so we can talk without anyone, human or otherwise, listening in. Now, _your_ next question"—here he looked at Young Dean—"is how in the world I can do that. You know we've been calling ourselves your guardian angels pretty much all your life. And that's been the truth."

Young Dean's mouth worked before he stammered, "Y-y-you mean..."

There was a flash like lightning, and the shadows of the angels' wings appeared on the wall behind them. Samuel couldn't keep from setting down his pastry and crossing himself, and neither could Dean; though they'd known all along who Gabriel and Castiel were, they'd never seen the wings before. Sam and Jess were clinging to each other, wide-eyed.

And Young Dean looked ready to faint. "I—you—I've... been..."

The light faded, and Gabriel smiled fondly. "Save it, Deano. We're not like our brothers."

"Gabriel," Sam asked quietly, "why are you telling us this now? What's going on?"

And while Samuel and Dean ate slowly, Gabriel explained the whole horrible history of the Apocalypse that might have been, of the Crusade, of the ways they _had_ changed the future by killing Azazel. "But the problem with derailing something like this," he continued, "is that there's always someone looking to put it back on the rails. For the last four years, we've been working overtime trying to keep one of Azazel's children from getting through to Lucifer through the hellmouth Azazel would have used. Seems today she decided to try a different tactic: she trapped Castiel in Ilchester while she buzzed off to perform the ritual at another hellmouth."

"That parchment," Dean breathed.

Gabriel sighed. "Yeeeah. Seems Chronos decided we needed a hand here."

"Chronos?" Jess repeated. "Father Time?"

"Yup. Note's in his handwriting. He and the Fates are the only gods who seem to even know anything's changed, and they also seem just as happy to keep things the way they are now. Guess he got the lowdown on these two from Atropos and decided to drop 'em here so they'd run into you muttonheads and get word to _somebody_ that the demon's in Lawrence."

"Lawrence," Sam gasped. "No—not—not _Stull Cemetery!_ I thought that was a myth!"

"Newsflash, Horatio," Young Dean snapped, grabbing for something that sat on the table beside him. "Our godfather's an archangel, and we're goin' to Lawrence as soon as I get leave." With that, he started pressing a pattern on the face of the device and raised it to his ear.

Sam scrabbled in his clothes and came out with a similar device. "I'll call the bookstore," he told Jess. "You don't have to come."

"Are you kidding?" Jess returned, reaching into her own purse. "After _that_ story? No _way_ am I going back to Stanford. I'm safer with you."

"Yeah, Mac?" Young Dean said into his device. "Winchester. Got a family emergency here..."

Gabriel turned to Castiel. "Get Amanda and the kids to a safe house. I don't care whose, I don't care how, just hide 'em well."

"Bobby's," Castiel declared and vanished.

"But wait," said Samuel, his voice sounding odd to his own ears. "What day is it?"

Gabriel stepped around the bed as Young Dean continued his one-sided conversation and Sam and Jess began speaking into their own devices as well. "It's June 4, all right," he said quietly. "We would have needed that note from Chronos if you'd gotten here sooner or if Castiel hadn't called me away from here to get him out of the trap. As it is, he did stop Meg from being able to collect the sacrifice she needs to open a line to Lucifer's Cage—at least for today. Tomorrow's a Sunday; she won't be able to use the same method, and we can make sure she can't try a similar one. Monday's the new moon. If she can kill eight virgins over the hellmouth in Stull Cemetery on that night, there's an even better chance she'll get through to Lucifer. And she probably knows I'm due back there on Tuesday, so even if she thinks she's still got Castiel trapped or thrown off her trail, she'll be betting everything on Monday night."

Dean nodded. "What of the gun?"

"We still have it."

"Good. Can we reach the place in time?"

"Yeah. That's not the tricky part. There's always the chance something could go wrong. And _that's_ why I think Chronos grabbed both of you."

"Because of what happened in Bethlehem?"

"No. Well, yes, partly, there and Griff, but that's not the main reason. If this were just about hunting experience, there are plenty of other hunters in this generation who could help us out. But you two... you're an awful lot like this Sam and Dean. Enough alike that Meg won't be able to tell easily which of you is which. Throwing that monkey wrench in the works means that even if we can't stop Meg from reaching Lucifer, and even if he's more specific now than he was last time around, she can't attack the right target right away. That should give us time to stop her before anything can shift back toward the old timeline."

Samuel looked over at Young Dean and had... not so much a showing as a feeling. "Some things still will, though, won't they? Some things were meant to be, and not as part of Lucifer's plan."

Gabriel sighed and looked at Young Dean, too. "Maybe so. But _if_ they choose to hunt, it won't be for revenge this time. 'Saving people' will always come before 'hunting things' in Dean's book; same with Sam. And Dean's a Marine. He's been to war. Picking up this war... might actually help. But now he's got children; he won't go taking stupid risks."

Samuel nodded slowly. "Yes. Yes, he will do better now."

"Ama—Aman—Amanda, calm down," Young Dean was saying into his device now. "Just go with Uncle Cas, all right? ... You've met Uncle Bobby, remember? At—at the wedding... It's _classified_, sweetheart... Yes, I'm fine. I can't tell you any more about it, but I'll call you when it's safe... _A-man-da_. Just go." He paused, and his stern look shifted to a smile. "Love you, too. Bye." He pulled the device away from his ear, pressed a button, and sighed.

"What is that thing?" Dean asked, nodding at the device.

"Telephone," Sam replied at the same time Young Dean said, "Complicated."

"Everything okay?" Jess asked Young Dean.

Young Dean sighed again. "Yeah, she's just freaked. And I get it, I do. It's just... how do you tell your wife you're going to stop a demon from starting the Apocalypse?"

"You don't," Gabriel answered. "Everything else squared away?" When the others nodded, he snapped his fingers again, and suddenly everyone but Samuel was dressed more like Sam and Young Dean had been in the visions.

The others looked down at themselves in shock, and then Young Dean pointed a trembling finger at Gabriel. "We're _driving_."

Gabriel shrugged. "Fine by me. Two cars or one?"

"One. That way we can switch off, drive straight through."

Gabriel looked at Sam, who nodded, and snapped his fingers yet again. "Car #2 is back in Palo Alto, and everyone's bags are in the Impala. Let's go."

As Jess gathered up the remains of the pastries and Young Dean went to inform the innkeeper that they were leaving, Sam asked, "Uh, Gabriel, are you gonna—"

"I'll ride with you," Gabriel said with a shrug. "Just because I _can_ fly doesn't mean I always want to, and you'll need another driver. Besides, _somebody_ needs to keep these muttonheads in line," he added with a mischievous grin, clapping a hand on the back of Samuel's neck and giving him a playful jostle.

Somehow that warmed Samuel down to his toes.

* * *

.

* * *

_Me paenitet huius:_ Sorry about this.

_gamenwað:_ merry journey


	3. Chapter 2: Alarms and Discursions

Chapter 2  
Alarms and Discursions

Sam didn't know what woke him late that night. He barely remembered the last gas stop and the younger, taller generation rotating to sleep in the back seat—each brother resting against a window and Jess resting her head on Sam's shoulder—while the twelfth-century Winchesters slept in the front when Gabriel took over driving. But as he sat up straighter, blinking blearily, it took him a moment to realize that there was a Dean behind the wheel.

The _wrong_ Dean.

"Dude, what are you doing?!" Sam hissed, suddenly wide awake.

"Taking my watch," Old Dean replied evenly.

"Since when do you know how to drive?"

"Today." Sam's mouth fell open, but Old Dean continued, "I have been watching, and it is not all that hard at this hour, when there are few others on the road. I could not sleep, so Gabriel offered to give me a turn."

"Dean's going to _kill you_ if you hurt his car, man."

"No, he won't," Gabriel replied, leaning his head back over the back of the seat rather than turning around—a move that was vintage Uncle Gabe. "Grandfather paradox. Besides, archangel copilot. I'll keep him on the road."

"But—"

"Night, Short Stuff." And that was the last thing Sam heard until morning.

What woke him then—from an awful dream involving Dean getting his back broken by falling hard against a gravestone—was the sound of quiet chanting in Latin. He forced himself to wake up all the way and opened his eyes to find the early light of morning falling on Gabriel, who was driving, and the bowed heads of Old Dean and Samuel, the latter of whom was doing the chanting. Sam could barely hear him over the sound of the engine, but if he listened carefully, he could just make out the words:

"... _in sanctitate et justitia coram ipso, omnibus diebus nostris_..."

Sam frowned a little and sat up, trying to place the words. Dad's friend Pastor Jim was Lutheran, but he'd given the boys a taste of the Latin Mass in Gregorian chant once upon a time just because they'd been curious. That was what this sounded like, but he didn't quite recognize it.

"... _illuminare his qui in tenebris et in umbra mortis sedent: ad dirigendos pedes nostros in viam pacis. Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison, Kyrie eleison. Amen._" Then Samuel and Old Dean crossed themselves and sat up.

"Lauds," Gabriel explained, glancing back at Sam in the rearview mirror. "Morning, Sam."

"Hey," Sam returned groggily. "What's Lauds?"

"Morning prayer, said at dawn. Samuel has to say the Hours if he can, even if he's on the road."

Samuel turned with a gentle smile. "I am sorry if I woke you."

Sam shook his head. "No, 's okay. Where are we?"

"About two hours east of Denver," said Gabriel, "just passed through Kanorado a few minutes ago. Figured we'd stop in Goodland for gas and breakfast."

Sam nodded. "Sure. Sounds good."

Old Dean turned then. "What manner of word is _Kanorado_, anyway?"

"It's a portmanteau word; you take the first part of _Kansas_ and the last part of _Colorado_ and put them together. The town's called that because it sits on the state line. Lot of place names like that in Texas, too—Texarkana, Texoma."

"Now, _Colorado_ is a Spanish word, I deem."

"Right, _Rio Colorado_, the red-colored river. They named the state after the river."

"But what is _Kansas_?"

"The Kanza people originally lived here. The state's named after them."

"And what manner of men are they?"

"Very distant relatives of the Skrælings," Gabriel replied, "but there haven't been any wars with them in nearly 150 years."

Samuel and Old Dean stared at him.

Sam frowned. "Really? I thought the Skrælings were Inuit, not Siouan."

Gabriel smiled a little. "Sam, all humans are related if you go back far enough. You're all descended from Noah."

But Old Dean, it seemed, was still stuck on _Skrælings_. "Will we meet any?"

"Probably not. Most of 'em live a long way south. And you might not recognize them if you did see them. Most dress just like everyone else now."

"Oh." Sam wasn't sure if Old Dean was relieved or disappointed.

Dean and Jess woke up as the car slowed down to turn off the highway into Goodland. By mutual agreement, they stopped for gas first to give the humans a chance to use the restroom, then went on to a restaurant for a sit-down breakfast, their first meal on the trip that wasn't snagged from a drive-through or a convenience store. Somehow, though, something happened at the gas station that put Samuel in a bad mood; Sam hadn't witnessed whatever it was, but while Samuel had been the only one not complaining about the discomfort being in the car for so long when they got there, Sam came out of the restroom to find Samuel sulking in the car. Samuel didn't say anything when the others returned, though, so Sam figured he'd brushed off whatever it was.

He figured wrong, however, as was quickly proven at the IHOP when the waitress made her way around the table taking orders and finally asked, "And for you, Father?"

"Brother," Samuel said flatly with a look Sam recognized from his own face as indicating extreme annoyance.

"... I'm sorry?"

"My name is _Brother_ Samuel. I am not a priest."

And suddenly Sam understood. They hadn't stopped often since leaving Lake Tahoe, but Samuel had been addressed as _Father_ or _Padre_ almost every time they had stopped. There were only so many punches a person could roll with, even as a monk; Sam didn't think he'd be this restrained if he'd been stranded in the wrong year and told he had to save the world. Again. Especially if people kept getting his name wrong.

"Sorry," Dean told the flustered waitress. "It's been a long drive—family emergency—and it's his first time away from the monastery in a couple of years. He'll have oatmeal."

Samuel sighed. "Aye. My apologies."

Gabriel reached over and squeezed the back of Samuel's neck, a token of comfort and forgiveness that suddenly felt more meaningful knowing that Gabriel was _the_ Gabriel. Sam could almost see the tension drain out of Samuel.

"Oh, the... the mistake was mine... B-brother," the waitress stammered, trying hard to regain her composure. "Would you like anything with that—maple syrup, cinnamon sugar?"

Samuel looked at Gabriel and Dean in confusion.

"Cinnamon sugar sounds good," said Gabriel, raising his eyebrows at Samuel, who smiled and nodded. "And tea to drink."

"Sweet or unsweet?"

"Unsweet, no ice."

The waitress nodded, shot Samuel an apologetic smile, and left.

"What is tea?" Old Dean asked Gabriel quietly, having followed Dean's lead and ordered coffee with biscuits and gravy.

While Jess explained that, the lack of trenchers, and general modern etiquette for eating at a table, Sam looked across at Samuel. "Hey. You doin' all right?"

Samuel shrugged.

"Look, we get it. This is hard, for all of us. Nobody's mad at you."

Samuel smiled sheepishly. "My thanks, Sam." Then he glanced down at the table before meeting Sam's eyes again. "Thou art as good a man as Gabriel and Castiel had told us thou wouldst be, as is thy brother. I am glad of that."

Sam swallowed hard, unsure how to respond. Finally, he managed, "Thanks. That... that means a lot."

Just then the waitress returned with their food, after which Jess asked, "Brother Samuel? Would you say grace for us?"

Samuel positively beamed and did so, and while he stuck to the Cistercian rule of not speaking during the meal, he seemed to be much happier when they left. In fact, everyone seemed to be in a good mood.

But that lasted only until Dean had his hand on the handle of the driver's door and suddenly looked up at Sam and swore. "I forgot to call Mom and Dad."

* * *

Even after six hours, Mary couldn't stop pacing. Sam's call had been beyond cryptic, but something had happened to make the boys abandon the fun weekend they'd had planned with Gabriel at Lake Tahoe and drive nearly straight through to get to Lawrence. She'd had her suspicions about Gabriel and Cas for a long time, but they'd always seemed to be on the side of good, so she hadn't tried to find out what they were. Yet there were demonic omens in the area; she'd have had to be blind to miss them. They'd started shortly before something had gone seriously wrong with a school bus that was supposed to be taking a group of kids on a field trip to a museum in Kansas City. Instead of taking I-70 northeast, it had broken down at the west edge of town, in the westbound lane of Highway 40—the road to Stull—and the driver, who'd been found unconscious at the wheel, swore by all that was holy that he didn't remember even getting on the bus.

And now Gabriel was bringing the boys home.

It made a terrible kind of sense, yet it didn't make sense at all. And Mary's mind kept sticking on the fact that the boys would be passing within just two miles or so of Stull Cemetery. Sam had said they were in Goodland and had sworn they'd only stop for gas and were driving straight through, so they weren't all that overdue, but until she knew they were safe...

John had just opened his mouth to suggest something when they heard Dean's Impala pull up. Mary was out the door and halfway to the driveway before Dean even got the engine shut off. Dean jumped out and pulled her into a relieved hug, by the end of which Sam and Jess were at his side and also ready for hugs while Dean moved on to hug John quickly.

"You guys okay?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, we're fine," John replied. "You've got your mama pretty worked up, but we're okay."

It wasn't until Mary released Jess that she realized that Gabriel was letting other people out of the car and that he and Sam and Jess were deliberately shielding them from Mary's view. Frowning in confusion, she looked up at Sam.

"Mom," he said, "don't freak out, but... there's a reason we came straight here, and it's kind of complicated."

"What are you talking about?"

Gabriel nodded to Sam and stepped aside. Sam and Jess did likewise to reveal... another Sam and another Dean. The Sam, a monk, was staring at John and crossing himself; the Dean was staring at Mary like he'd seen a ghost.

Dean walked around to come up between the doppelgangers and pulled them forward a little, one arm around each double's shoulders. "Mom, Dad, I'd like you to meet some distant relatives of ours from England. This is Brother Samuel of Rievaulx; this is his older brother Dean of Winchester; and they've come all the way from the year 1150."

"Bull," said John.

Brother Samuel's breath caught, and he looked at Dean. "Thou art certain that is _thy_ father?"

Dean nodded. "Was yours named John, too?"

"Aye. He died last fall. And... thy mother..."

"Mary Campbell," Mary said. "Of the Clan Campbell—our people came from Argyll and Menstrie."

Dean of Winchester paled, swallowed hard, and declared, "I need a drink."

"Wait. Just... just wait." Mary dashed back into the house to a stash she thought she'd never need again, retrieved the silver knife and the flask of holy water, and ran back out to find John and Gabriel quietly growling at each other about something.

Sam frowned when he saw what she held. "Mom?"

But the doppelgangers were already pushing up their sleeves. "This is wise, Sam," said Dean of Winchester. "Good tests for one of our league. If she knows aught of what has happened, she does well to test us all to make sure we are who we claim."

Mary swallowed hard. "Y-you're hunters?"

"Aye, raised to it. Father... a devil killed our mother, you see, and Father would see her avenged. 'Twas two years ago in our day that Gabriel and Castiel helped us see it done."

Mary ignored the growing knot in her stomach as she applied the cut test to the doubles and found that they weren't shapeshifters or anything else that could be harmed by silver; their blood was a normal human red. Then she handed over the holy water, and they drank easily.

"'Tis holy water," Brother Samuel explained as he handed the flask to Dean. "Shows that we are not possessed."

Dean raised an eyebrow but drank and handed the flask on to Sam, who passed it to Jess, who passed it to Gabriel. Gabriel drank, tossed some in John's face, and tossed the flask back to Mary, who let it slosh on her when she caught it.

"So!" Gabriel said cheerfully. "All identities confirmed. What say we break out the Johnny Walker Blue to get the ancestors past their boggle check?"

John glared, but Mary sighed. "All right. Come inside."

* * *

Half an hour later, John stomped out the back door and flung himself into a lawn chair. He didn't want to go far, but he had to get out of the house.

His entire family had gone absolutely, certifiably _insane_.

The monk who looked like Sam had gone off to pray, but John didn't get the impression he was praying because he hadn't believed the crazy story Gabriel had been telling them. No, all of them—_all_ of them—somehow had Gabriel pegged as the archangel himself and believed every word he'd said. Then the monk had said something about _Sext_ and Gabriel had nodded, and Sam had showed the monk upstairs to his room while Gabriel was explaining that _Sext_ meant some kind of prayer. Then Cas had shown up and started talking with Mary, Dean, and Dean (!) about strategy for catching the so-called demon, and John just couldn't take it anymore.

Cold glass suddenly touched his hand, and he looked away from the hole he was trying to stare in the back fence to find Jess handing him a beer. "Thanks," he said, taking it from her.

Jess smiled and sat down in the chair next to him with a beer of her own. "Looks like Sam decided to pray the Hours with Brother Samuel. Guess I'm not really surprised."

"Think he's planning on becoming a monk himself?"

She snorted. "Not likely. He's just been curious about religion for a long time. He believes in God, and he prays, but that seems to be as far as it goes most of the time. He's not as committed to church stuff as Dean's been since he got back from Iraq."

"And you?"

"I don't know what I believe right now."

"You don't... seriously think Gabriel's an angel, do you?"

She looked him in the eye. "He showed us his wings yesterday. He snapped his fingers, and all of a sudden Old Dean and Brother Samuel could speak English. I can't see how he's _not_ an angel."

He frowned. "What do you mean, they could speak English?"

"When we ran into them at the fair, they couldn't—at least, not Modern English. The language they were speaking kind of sounded like something out of _Beowulf_. And Brother Samuel speaks Latin."

John was still processing that statement when he heard the garage door open. "He can have chicken, though, right?" Dean was asking someone.

"Aye," replied the other Dean. "Chicken or fish, I deem, or other fowl. 'Tis the Feast of St. Boniface; he can have aught."

"Fish, huh? Ooh, Long John's—nah, you guys probably wouldn't like the way they do fish. We'd better stick with chicken."

"Does no one cook at home on Sundays, then?"

"Well, it depends..." The rest of Dean's reply was cut off by the Impala's doors opening and shutting and the engine starting.

Jess chuckled. "I think Old Dean loves that car as much as our Dean does. You should have heard Brother Samuel yelp the first time Dean put his foot down, though. It took us an hour to convince him we weren't actually flying."

"You're sure they're not—I dunno—the Catholic version of Amish?"

"I don't think the Amish eat off of trenchers."

John sighed.

"I know. I'm having a hard time getting my head around it all, too. And I've been stuck in the car with them for a whole day!"

"Jess, you're a smart girl..."

She held up a hand. "Spare me the 'you're too smart to believe in the supernatural' talk, John. I get it all the time at Stanford. Like I said, I don't know what I do believe, but I know what I've seen yesterday and today. And I think it's too dangerous to assume Gabriel's not telling the truth, especially since I'm apparently one of the people on Hell's hit list. If he is wrong, then I've just gotten the wildest vacation of my life. But if he's right and I don't listen..."

He looked at her closely. "Was he specific?"

She nodded and looked down at her beer, playing with the label. "Disemboweled and burned alive, pinned to the ceiling over our bed. And Sam had to watch."

He'd seen horrors in Vietnam, but somehow his mind just couldn't process the idea of something like that happening to Sammy's pretty, vivacious girlfriend, never mind Sammy having to _watch_ Jess die. Part of him refused to believe it could be true. Part of him was willing to go to war again just to make sure it never would be true.

"You're sure Amanda and the kids are safe?" he asked quietly.

Jess looked up and nodded. "Castiel took them to Mr. Singer's place in South Dakota; Mr. Singer knows about... hunting, they call it. He can protect them. And there again, even if Gabriel's wrong, no one would be likely to look for them in Sioux Falls rather than San Diego. Or here."

John nodded thoughtfully. "And Singer's a tough old coot. Between him and Rumsfeld, even Al Qaeda would have a tough time getting to Amanda."

She grinned.

"Maybe... you ought to head up there yourself."

She shook her head. "Thought about it. I'm safer with Sam."

"You sure?"

"John, it's six hours from here to Sioux Falls. What can happen on a highway in six hours, even from natural causes?"

He sighed. "I just want you safe, Jessie."

"I know you do." She stood, brushed a kiss on his cheek, and went inside.

John went back to staring at the fence and drinking his beer until he heard the Deans return and take their burden of fried chicken inside. Then he pulled himself together and started to walk slowly back into the house.

His reluctance vanished when he heard one of the Sams cry out in pain.

John rushed inside to find the family crowded around the staircase. Brother Samuel was collapsed against the railing, clutching his head and wailing while Sam and Gabriel kept him from falling. And given Gabriel's posture, John could almost, _almost_ see wings coming out from his back and wrapping around both Sams like a shield.

"_Re-... Regina cœli_," Brother Samuel gasped. "_Se-se-serva—RETRO ME, SATAN!_"

Gabriel uttered some kind of curse. "Shield your eyes, kids. I may have to go in."

While everyone else looked away and screwed their eyes shut, Cas slammed his hand flat against the nearest wall, and light burst from... somewhere.

"Will someone tell me what the hell's going on?!" John demanded.

"Hell is exactly what's going on," Cas snapped. "Cover your eyes!"

"GABRIEL!" Brother Samuel screamed.

And suddenly Cas was _behind_ John, clamping his hands over John's eyes before bright light blazed forth from somewhere, light that might otherwise have blinded him. Brother Samuel stopped screaming with a loud sob of relief, and the light faded. When Cas finally let go of John, Brother Samuel was slumped against the Dean with the beard, still panting hard; Sam was still bracing him from behind, looking deeply disturbed, and Gabriel had come down a couple of steps in front of them and was rubbing Brother Samuel's shoulder.

"Chronos was right, wasn't he?" Sam asked quietly. "She attacked the wrong Sam."

Gabriel nodded. "Samuel's better trained for this kind of warfare, but Meg's probably the strongest demon he's ever faced, apart from Azazel. She's still trying to sideline us."

Dean frowned. "I thought you said she couldn't grab her victims until tomorrow."

"She can't do so easily," Cas replied, stepping around John. "But if your brother had been subjected to that level of psychic attack..."

Dean paled and swallowed hard. "Will Samuel be okay?"

"_Sa-... salveo sum_," Brother Samuel answered weakly.

"Come eat, Samuel," said Mary. "That should help."

The other Dean tried to help Brother Samuel to his feet, but the monk was too weak to stand.

"Here," Sam said, and when the other Dean shifted out of the way, Sam scooped Brother Samuel up and carried him down the stairs.

Jess ran to the dining table and brought back a rolling chair. Sam set Brother Samuel in it, but the other Dean insisted on being the one to push him into the dining room. Everyone else followed—except John, who was still trying to make sense of what he'd seen, and Cas, who was looking at him expectantly.

John shook his head. "I... I don't... what happened?"

"Meg attacked Samuel, thinking he was Sam."

"Meg?"

"The demon we are trying to stop."

"So that... that..."

"Could have happened to your son, yes."

"What... when you..."

"I warded this house. It couldn't stop this attack, but it will prevent her from finding us here."

"So it's real. It's all real."

"Yes, John."

Even as a stunned curse slipped out, John suddenly felt light-headed and woozy, like Earth's axis had slipped or something.

Cas put a hand on John's shoulder. "Come eat."

John just nodded and let Cas pull him into the dining room.

* * *

Given that John and Mary's house had windows fitted with glass but no servants at all, Dean had given up trying to figure out exactly how well off his offspring were. But he was grateful for one thing: they could afford chairs with wheels on them. That made it much, much simpler to move Samuel out of their dining hall after dinner and into another room with cushioned settles and chairs. Samuel had barely been able to feed himself, even with Dean cutting up the chicken for him and Jess filling the rest of his glass-trencher with foods he could eat with a spoon; there was no way he'd be able to walk that far even with support. So while the others were clearing up, Dean pushed Samuel into the other room using the wheeled chair, and Young Dean led them to a large chair with a lever on the side. Once they'd gotten Samuel settled into it, Young Dean pulled the lever back, which brought up a folding footrest and tilted the back so that Samuel could rest more comfortably.

"_Gratias_," Samuel murmured.

"_De nada_," Young Dean answered.

"Oh, _do_ thou speak English," Dean chided Samuel fondly with a hint of a smile, which Samuel returned with a huff before his eyes slid shut.

Young Dean laid a hand on Dean's shoulder. "You want this chair?" he asked, pointing to the wheeled chair.

Dean briefly thought about leaving Samuel be and taking one of the other chairs or even sitting on the floor, but Samuel's trembling suddenly grew to full-fledged shivers. Dean drew a deep breath and nodded as he reached for Samuel's hand. "Aye. My thanks."

Young Dean pulled the chair closer to let Dean sit. Then he found a blanket and covered Samuel with it. "Adrenaline crash," he told Dean quietly. "At least, I hope that's all it is."

Dean didn't know what _adrenaline_ was, but he thought he understood what Young Dean meant with the _crash_—the bone-deep weariness one often felt after a fight. So he nodded. "'Twas a hard-fought battle indeed, it seems. The more so given that he cried for aid. I know little of the battles he has fought at Rievaulx, but seldom did his Sight cause him to cry out when we were young, and never in this wise; when I have heard him do so, 'twas only for the evil he saw."

Young Dean frowned. "The Sight? You mean he's psychic—sees the future, I mean?"

"We both do betimes. Samuel is the stronger there." Somehow it no longer pained Dean to admit that.

"Does it come in, like, dreams or flashes or what?"

"Dreams betimes, betimes waking. I see short snatches betimes; Samuel sees more, and past as well as future. Betimes 'tis but a feeling, a knowing. Our mother was part _Sìth_; belike that is why."

Young Dean nodded slowly.

"Dean?" Samuel asked quietly, his eyes still closed.

"Yes?" both Deans replied.

"Where is Gabriel?"

"Right here, kiddo," Gabriel answered, appearing beside the chair as Samuel opened his eyes. "She comin' back?"

Samuel shook his head. "Not to my knowledge, but... I would fain..." He reddened a bit, as if ashamed of what he would ask.

"You want the others in here for this?"

Samuel shook his head.

"All right, then. No shame here. What did you see?"

A tear rolled down Samuel's cheek. "Threats. So many threats. I thought at first 'twas a showing—I s-saw Young Dean thrown against a standing stone and his back broken—but then... then the pain... I knew aught was wrong... and ever the longer, the worse... John, Mary, Jess, Amanda, the children... blood and flames and torment... and..." He shuddered hard. "I... I cannot..."

"It's all right, Samuel. We don't need details."

"Sh-sh-she taunted me... threatened me... 'I will speak to my father,' she said. 'You shall not stop me, and if... if you try...'" Samuel shuddered again and burst into tears.

Young Dean reached into one of the pouches on the back of his trousers and pulled out a folded cloth of thin linen, which he unfolded and handed to Samuel. Samuel guessed at its use and pressed it to his face, both to catch his tears and to muffle his sobs.

Then, grim-faced, Young Dean looked up at Gabriel. "Tell me you got a way to kill this thing."

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. "You want to do the honors, huh?"

"Hell. Yes. _No one_ touches my family. No one _threatens_ my family. This demon might know hellhounds, but she don't know the Devil Dogs. This means war."

Gabriel smiled slowly. "I had a feeling you'd say that. Welcome to the family business, Dean."

And though Dean felt no less wrath than did his namesake over what had happened to Samuel, he could not but feel oddly proud at that remark.

* * *

.

* * *

The medieval Liturgy of the Hours consists of Lauds, said at dawn; Prime, Terce, Sext, and None, said respectively at the first, third, sixth, and ninth hours of the day; Vespers, said in the evening; Compline, said at nightfall; and Matins, said at midnight. The Latin canticle and Greek litany Sam hears Samuel recite at the end of Lauds are, "... in holiness and justice before him, all our days... to enlighten them that sit in darkness and in the shadow of death: to direct our feet into the way of peace. Lord, have mercy on us; Christ, have mercy on us; Lord, have mercy on us. Amen." (Verse: Luke 1:75 and 79, Douay-Rheims; Latin text from the Vulgate)

___Re-... Regina cœli_...: Queen of Heaven, save—GET BEHIND ME, SATAN!

_Sa-... salveo__ sum:_ I'm fine.

_Gratias_ is actually Latin for "Thank you," but modern American ears would most likely hear the Spanish equivalent _Gracias_.

_S__ìth:_ Fairy (Scots Gaelic)


	4. Chapter 3: Trips and Traps

Chapter 3  
Trips and Traps

Something had gone wrong. That was all Meg could tell. Castiel finding a way out of the holy oil trap hadn't surprised her that much, though he'd gotten out too soon. The other angel (who couldn't really be Gabriel; Gabriel was dead, or so everyone assumed) coming back early also hadn't surprised her much. His coming back with a carful of Winchesters had surprised her, and she'd gotten the uneasy feeling that Mary was planning to come out of retirement to boot. One of the Winchester boys had been praying, though, so Meg had tried to take advantage of the fact that his mind was open to supernatural influences.

But he'd fought—too hard and too well for a pre-law Stanford kid. And then he'd called in the angel, who'd severed the connection before she could inflict actual damage. Either Sam was stronger than she'd thought, or she'd grabbed the wrong Winchester.

Stull might just be a no-go. Meg was in desperate need of advice.

So she split for Chicago, grabbed a hobo, and tried to make a phone call. Unfortunately, Hell seemed to have adapted the idea of Call Forwarding to its own use, because the demon who answered was Crowley.

_Meg!_ he said cheerfully. _What can I do for you, luv?_

"I need to talk to Lilith."

_Ooh, sorry, ducks. If it's crossroads business, you'll have to deal with me._

"No. I really need Lilith."

_What for?_

"Advice, you stupid skirt-wearing sheep-herder. About Stull."

_What are you mucking about with hellmouths for?_

"I need to talk to Lilith," she repeated through gritted teeth.

_Don't tell me you're still trying to get through to Lucifer._

"Fine, I'm not telling you _anything_, especially if you won't refer to Lord Lucifer with even an ounce of respect. Can you get me Lilith or not?!"

_Oh, come off it, Meg. Give it a rest. Getting Himself out the Cage can't be all that urgent, can it?_

"CROWLEY! Get me Lilith, or so help me, I will sic _daevas_ on you!"

_Oh, _fine_. Hold on._

And then the idiot actually started playing muzak. Meg beat the back of her borrowed head against the brick wall behind her and started planning creative ways to get back at him.

* * *

"She's gone," Cas announced, suddenly appearing by the recliner.

Gabe frowned. "Where is she?"

"How should I know?!"

Dean could see where this was headed, and there wasn't time. "HEY!" he barked in his best command voice.

Oddly enough, angels jumped to about as well as his Marines did. Gabe looked rather more pleasantly surprised, though, and Cas looked... startled?

Dean didn't dwell on it. "Can we keep her from comin' back or not?"

Cas frowned. "Dean, trying to paint a devil's trap in a cemetery would be impractical."

"All right, so we don't use paint. Give me something stronger."

Gabe laughed. "Engineers. Gotta love 'em."

"Are you gonna help, or do I have to call St. Barbara?"

Gabe guffawed, snapped his fingers to produce two iron rods, handed one to Cas, and said, "You take Ilchester. We'll take Stull. I don't know why we never thought of this before. Captain, you're with me. Sir Hunter"—at this, he pointed his own rod at Old Dean—"you're with Castiel. You take Sam and Mary; we'll take John and Jess. And _you_"—here he poked Samuel's foot—"stay here and sleep. We'll be back in two shakes."

Old Dean stood, frowning in confusion. "There is a hellmouth in Somerset?"

Samuel muttered something that sounded like "Would surprise me not."

"Wrong Ilchester," Cas replied and poked two fingers at Old Dean's forehead... and they vanished.

"Dad! Jess!" Dean called before asking Gabe, "You sure we can't drive for this one?"

Gabe shook his head. "No, you're right. There's no time to lose. We don't know where Meg is, what she's doing, or when she'll be back. We've got to trap that hellmouth now."

"Trap it with what?" Dad asked as he walked in, Jess hard on his heels.

"I'll show you," Gabe replied before snapping his fingers.

And suddenly the four of them were in Stull Cemetery.

Before Dean could even voice the curse that wanted to slip out, Gabe held the end of the rod out to him. "Hold that."

Dean grabbed hold of it and held tight while Gabe jogged off to the other side of the large, clear space where they were standing. The rod grew as he ran, and Dean was faintly surprised that it stayed stiff and kept the same diameter rather than stretching and thinning into a drawn wire.

Finally, Gabe stopped, looked around, and nodded. "Yeah, this'll cover it. Okay, John, Jess, get on opposite sides, about equidistant from us—mark it in thirds."

It took Dad a second to get over his shock, but he did recognize an order when he heard one. Jess had already taken off by the time he got moving, and they reached their positions at about the same time.

"Grab hold."

They did so.

"Okay, Dean, stay put. John, Jess, pull as hard as you can and keep moving backward until I say stop."

Frowning, they pulled slowly—and the hard iron shifted and pulled like taffy.

"RUN!" Dean barked, somehow sensing that they didn't have time to figure out what the hell was happening.

So Dad and Jess ran, and the rod pulled and put out strings and arcs. By the time Gabe called for them to stop, it had turned into a giant circle with a five-pointed star in the middle. A second later, the iron vanished under what looked like a layer of electroless nickel plate. Dean nodded his approval; the nickel would not only hide the appearance of the iron but also protect it against corrosion.

"All right," Gabe called, "lower it to the ground on three. One, two, three."

The four of them lowered the circle to the ground, letting go at the same moment to avoid getting their fingers pinched. The circle, however, kept moving, sinking into the soil until it vanished, the earth closing over it as if it had never been there.

Dad frowned. "What was the purpose of that?"

"Well, I had to hide it," Gabe shot back. "It won't trap Meg if she can see it."

Dean cautiously stepped forward and sensed the trap's power as he crossed the edge of the circle, even though he couldn't see it. Then he strode on toward the middle of the trap, as everyone else was doing. "So wait," he asked Gabe, "you _want_ her to come back?"

Gabe shrugged. "If you wanna shoot her, you kind of have to be in the same place at the same time. C'mon, there's one in Detroit we should ward, too, now that I'm thinking about it."

"Detroit?" Dad frowned. "Wait, how are we—"

Gabe snapped his fingers, and they were in an old abandoned house in what Dean had to assume was Detroit. Ignoring Dad's rusty Vietnamese profanity, Dean sighed and took the end of the rod Gabriel was holding out to him.

* * *

Mary watched the nickel-plated wall-to-wall iron devil's trap sink into the floor of the convent chapel and fuse to the stone, effectively warding the entire chapel for the foreseeable future. How it had managed to pass through the pews without leaving a mark was beyond her, though she didn't worry over it; angels could probably do anything they liked within reason. And truth be told, she was too busy worrying about other things.

Her skin was crawling, and not just from the chill in the air that seemed to have gotten worse as soon as the trap was complete. Something just felt off about this place in a way she hadn't sensed in even the worst covens she'd helped her father take down. And from the looks on their faces, Sammy and Old Dean felt it, too. As the humans walked back toward the altar to meet Cas, Sam kept rubbing his arms and looking around warily, and Old Dean looked grimly determined.

And then Old Dean cried out and stumbled, catching himself on a pew.

Cas was beside him in a heartbeat, while Sam and Mary ran up to them. "Dean?" Cas asked urgently. "Dean, what do you see?"

"'Twas here," Old Dean panted. "I... I see what was. Lilith... Ruby... blood... light..."

Sam started shivering harder. "He's ticked," he said quietly. "He knows what we've done."

"Lucifer lies," Cas insisted, helping Old Dean to his feet again. "That future is gone."

Mary pulled Sam into a side hug. "Who's Ruby?"

"Li-... Lilith's handmaiden," Old Dean replied. "Sought... to lead Sam..."

"To lead Sam astray and provoke him to kill Lilith," Cas finished for him. "But he cannot be corrupted that way now."

Before Mary could ask why not, they were interrupted by a shriek from the chapel doorway. They turned to see a petite blonde standing just outside the edge of the trap, her eyes demon-black and her face twisted in rage. Instinctively, both Sam and Old Dean shoved Mary behind them while Cas manifested a sword and stood in front of both boys. Mary didn't know whether to be annoyed or grateful.

"DAMN YOU, CASTIEL!" the demon screamed.

"You've lost, Meg," Cas growled. "In my Father's name, BEGONE!"

"It's NOT OVER!" she shouted and vanished in a puff of black smoke.

"We need to get back to Lawrence," Cas stated as he turned back to them.

And a split second later, they were back in the front hall of John and Mary's house, safe on familiar ground within the strong wards Cas had set before lunch. Mary let out a heavy sigh of relief and hugged Sam again.

Old Dean rubbed her shoulder gently. "Art well, Mary?"

She nodded. "Yes, I'll... I'll be all right. How are you?"

"Well enough."

Sam looked at Cas. "Cas, you said this... Ruby can't corrupt me now. Why not?"

Cas smiled. "In the other timeline, Azazel fed you demon blood when you were six months old. That blood gave you powers that Ruby exploited. But you don't have demon blood or powers now, only the Sight that you inherited naturally. Even if Meg succeeds in getting through to Lucifer, that plan can't work in this timeline."

Sam blew out a relieved breath. "Awesome. Thanks."

Gabriel and his team returned then, and Dean immediately honed in on the looks on Mary's and Sam's faces. "You guys okay?" he asked, walking up to Sam. "What happened?"

"Yeah, we're fine," Sam replied. "Meg showed up. And... it was weird, being that close to a hellmouth. Lucifer was hacked off—and I have no idea how I could tell. I just felt it."

"Yeah, well, he can just _be_ mad. This ends tomorrow."

"What if it doesn't? What if—"

"Hey." Dean grabbed Sam by the scruff of the neck and shook him a little. "He's not gettin' you, Sam. I don't care who I have to kill. The Devil can't have you."

Sam let go of Mary and pulled Dean into a rough hug.

It was at that point that Mary suddenly became aware of someone speaking quietly in the living room. Cautiously, she edged closer to the doorway until she recognized both Brother Samuel's voice and what he was saying:

"'Batty!' said Edmund. 'Qu-ite batty.'

'Ww-_hwæt_ do you mean, Lu?' asked Peter."

As she smiled fondly, Gabriel walked up beside her and chuckled. "Yup. Some things never change."

* * *

Samuel had no wish to appear greedy in his reading, but so many of the books on John and Mary's shelves were small—most no more than a quarto, and quite thin by comparison to the ones in Rievaulx's library—and all in English, so it took very little time for him to read one. Or seven, he realized ruefully as he came to the end of _The Last Battle_ and discovered that it was not yet time for supper. Despite his occasional stumbles over changed spelling, the Narnian romances had been a light read, full of delightful invention and some clear-headed truth, even if the author was not completely in line with the teachings of the Church as Samuel knew them. And it was good to have the distraction from Meg's attack. There was little he could do now to aid the others in preparing the final trap, but he could not allow himself to replay those horrid visions again and again. Perchance these romances would have some better images to cling to.

He put _The Last Battle_ back carefully and had just begun debating between the books labeled "J. R. R. Tolkien" and the ones labeled "Zane Grey" when John walked up to him.

"Hey," John said. "Mary was wondering what you'd like for supper."

Samuel blinked. "I shall have what everyone else is having."

The answer seemed to confuse John. "Um. Right, okay. So... enjoying the books?"

Samuel smiled. "Aye, very much. I had not expected to see so many—such wealth ye have."

John rubbed the back of his neck, and Samuel wondered whether he had said aught amiss. After a moment, though, John said, "Your... your brother says I'm a lot like your dad."

Samuel nodded. "Aye. Very like."

"How, um... how did he die?"

"Lung fever. But i' sooth... 'twas from a broken heart."

John frowned. "How do you mean?"

"Father had gone after Azazel alone. When we found him, he had been badly beaten, and Gabriel knew not whether he would have the strength to heal him fully and take us home _and_ return to this day without doing himself an injury. So though he healed Father well enough to live, Father had many wounds still to let heal when we returned, and he could not hunt. So we settled him in Grentabrige with Father Seamus. His body healed well enough that he could come with us to Winchester and set Mother's soul to rest, and he was glad enough to stand witness when Dean wedded Joanna, but... without the hunt... he had perforce to face his grief over Mother as he had not done in a score of years. He wasted. And when the lung fever came, he had not the will to fight."

"Were you close?"

"I would now we had been closer."

"This whole... hunting thing, it got to you?"

"For a time. Ever we had somewhere new to be, some wrong to right. Never could he settle. And I wearied of the fighting."

"Can't say I blame you. I mean, he was your father. He should have protected you."

"Yet he tried. Indeed, in some measure he died trying. I understand him better now. And I would that I could tell him so again, tell him... I forgive him." Samuel trailed off, suddenly aware that he was echoing Sam talking to a much younger John.

And the conversation with Mary that followed... Lord, have mercy...

"Samuel!"

Samuel returned from the vision with a gasp to find John, his stern face failing to mask the panic in his eyes, holding him by the shoulders and shaking him slightly. "My... my thanks," Samuel panted.

"Was it her? The demon?"

"I... I know not. I saw... what was."

"What was and what shall never be," growled Young Dean, coming around John to guide Samuel to the nearest settle. "We'll make sure of that tomorrow."

Samuel nodded. "'Tis all but gone. Without Meg... 'twill never be."

John frowned. "Why is Meg so damn important? Who is she?"

"Azazel's child," Samuel replied. "We did battle with her brother once."

"So what's to stop him from getting involved?"

"That demon is dead," Castiel stated, walking in behind John. "He chose to attack a hunter who had built a gate to block a hellmouth, not knowing that said hunter also had one of the only weapons known to man that is capable of killing demons of his rank. We have the other."

John shook his head. "I still don't get it. Why Meg?"

"Meg is the second most powerful demon currently walking the earth. She is also the only demon still determined to reach Lucifer. Crowley, king of the Crossroads Demons, is too concerned with his own survival to seek to free Lucifer; he knows that Lucifer will rid the world of demons as surely as he will wipe out humanity. With the rest of Hell's rulers either dead or unable to leave Hell, Lucifer's plan will have no audience. Your family will be safe."

Samuel let himself sink back into the cushions of the settle, but when his eyes slipped shut briefly, he had a flash of vision of Mary burning on the ceiling. He dismissed it as another scene of what was, brought on by being in the house where it had happened—well, would have happened. Opening his eyes, he saw Jess walk in to ask John about supper... and suddenly a stabbing pain shot through his head as he saw _Jess_ burning on the ceiling. Young Dean struck by lightning when he dared shoot a creature, lingering long near death. John, Sam, and Young Dean, all wounded sore, fleeing some harm in Impala only to be crushed by a giant wain. John trading the gun and his soul for Dean's life.

Meg was back, Samuel realized, and she had changed tactics. Now she was forcing him to see only what was, that he might believe these things might still come to pass.

Outraged, he steeled himself against the onslaught of images, mentally dismissing each as a lie, yet they continued. Sam begging Dean to kill him. Dean in the clutches of a djinn. Sam struck down from behind with a fatal blow.

_Lies!_

Dean trading his soul for Sam's life. Dean torn apart by hellhounds.

_Lies!_

Sam falling into bed with a demoness, yielding to the temptation to drink her blood. Sam, thus intoxicated, killing Lilith, his eyes going demon-black.

"Lies!"

Sam, possessed, beating Dean almost senseless.

"Lies!"

Sam without his soul.

"LIES!"

Castiel proclaiming himself God.

"_In nomine Patris_—"

Sam and Castiel confined to a madhouse.

"—_et Filii_—"

Dean covered in gore, his eyes hard and cold, resting an axe of stone and bone on his shoulder.

"—_et Spiritus Sancti_—"

Sam, possessed, snapping Dean's neck in a rose garden.

"THESE THINGS SHALL NOT BE!"

The hands that grabbed Samuel's shoulders this time were Gabriel's, and the archangel's touch was enough to free him. He realized that he was standing only as his knees gave way and Gabriel guided him back down onto the settle. There he found himself flanked by both Deans, and the rest of the family save Mary was gathered around them.

"Meg again?" Gabriel asked.

Samuel nodded. "'Twas not... not so bad... as before."

"Still bad enough, sounded like," said Young Dean. "You okay?"

Samuel nodded again.

"Wish we could just get this over with; I hate waiting."

"We still don't know where she is," Castiel noted.

"Maybe we can find some way to track her," Sam suggested. "There's this guy I know from a gaming forum who can program just about anything."

Jess frowned. "Who?"

"'RoadhouseMiles'—I think he said his real name's Ash."

Samuel didn't have to look to know that he and his brother blinked at the same time before chorusing, "Asce?!"

Young Dean stared. "You gotta be kidding."

"Nay, forsooth," said Dean. "Ours is a clerk; he dwells with Joanna and Ellen and me, at the Eagle and Child in Oxenford."

Sam looked rattled. "Th-this Ash lives at a bar with a Jo and an Ellen."

"Who also happen to be hunters," Gabriel said. "Go ahead and contact him, Sam."

Sam nodded and left the room just as Mary entered it. "The fish is about done," she said. "Everything okay in here?"

"It is now," Young Dean replied.

John glanced at Samuel, sighed, and turned back to Mary. "Maybe we'd better eat in here tonight, baby."

Mary nodded. "Sure. That sounds like a good idea. I'll bring in the plates in a minute."

"I can help," Castiel offered, and at her nod, he followed her to the kitchen.

John and Jess brought forth small folded tables to set before each seat, and Mary and Castiel set each with food and silver. Sam returned shortly with what looked like a thin grey book but turned out to be a device that Samuel decided not even to try to understand, and then they ate. But after the meal, apart from clearing the dishes and making use of the toilet, no one seemed inclined to leave the sitting room. Mary, Sam, and Castiel held quiet conference over Sam's device for a time, while the others made light conversation about books and other matters. Ever they sought to keep Samuel speaking in his turn, and he soon realized that their intent was to keep watch over him and with him, much the same as they would had he suffered a physical blow to the head. He was too grateful to be annoyed about it.

The Matins hour had come and gone ere anyone first gave thought to seeking sleep, and even then the children seemed loath to leave. Finally, assured that the angels would keep watch through the night, first Sam and Jess and then John and Mary retired to their bedchambers. Yet both Deans lingered with Samuel.

"Shalt sleep this night, brother?" Dean finally asked.

Samuel sighed. "I know not. Almost I fear to."

"I'll sit with him, dude," said Young Dean. "Go get some sleep."

Dean looked at Samuel, who nodded his assent, and sighed. "Very well. Good night." And he left.

Young Dean waited until they were quite alone to say, "Hey, um... want me to read to you? That way you could rest your eyes, at least."

The offer surprised Samuel, but then he smiled. "I suppose 'twould be easier for thee to read these books than it is for me."

Young Dean smiled back. "Awesome. Any particular one you're interested in?"

"Oh, any would serve."

"Okay." Young Dean went to the shelves to select a book and returned, then settled into his seat in a way that Samuel was sure he had done many a time when preparing to do the same for his brother and his children. "This book's one of my favorites," he confessed.

Samuel's smile grew. "Good. I shall be glad to hear it."

Young Dean cleared his throat, opened the book, and began: "In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit..."

* * *

When the doorbell rang early the next morning, Jess answered it with the flask of holy water in hand. Ash had promised Sam that he'd come down from central Nebraska to help out with tracking omens and disappearances that could give them a clue as to where Meg was, so she was expecting the caller. She couldn't be sure he wasn't possessed, though, and she had no idea what to expect him to be like apart from a vague notion of a dweeby guy with horn-rim glasses and a pocket protector.

She was not expecting the weedy blond redneck with sleepy eyes and a long mullet, who greeted her with an appreciative whistle and a "Helloooo, nurse!"

Jess threw holy water in his face.

He grinned and wiped his face with a bandana. "Guess I deserved that. You must be Sam's girl. Name's Ash." He offered his hand.

She shook it. "Jess. Thanks for coming."

As she moved aside to let him in, Ash stepped carefully over the salt line Mary had put down the night before and looked around approvingly. "Nice place. Thought Sam said his old man's a mechanic."

"He's a good enough mechanic to be comfortable. And there's plenty of business to be had in a place like Lawrence."

He nodded, paying more attention to the house than to her. "Where is Sam, anyway?"

Before Jess could answer, a slight snore sounded from the living room. Ash followed the noise curiously, and Jess followed him to find Dean and Brother Samuel both sacked out on the couch. Samuel had his head on Dean's shoulder and was curled up against him as if Dean's presence was enough to keep the attack-visions at bay; Dean had his feet up on the coffee table and his head tipped back to rest on the top of the couch, his right arm loosely but comfortingly circling Samuel's shoulders, and _The Hobbit _dangled precariously from his left hand.

Ash looked ready to pull some kind of prank that would wake them up, but he never got the chance. Sam walked in with a quiet "Hey" and kissed Jess on the cheek.

Ash's double-take was priceless. Jess had to clamp a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing.

"You must be Ash," Sam surmised, offering Ash his hand. "Sam. Thanks for coming."

"Hey, _no problemo,_ _compadre_," Ash returned, shaking Sam's hand. "Didn't tell me you had a twin."

"I don't. He's a distant relative. The other guy's my brother, Dean. C'mon in the kitchen; Mom's got breakfast going, and we can talk in there."

"They need to hear this?"

"Less than they need to sleep. Rough night; Samuel's psychic, and the demon keeps attacking him."

"—Samuel?"

"Family name. C'mon."

Ash shot another wary look at the couch and followed Sam and Jess into the kitchen. There Mary was just finishing a batch of waffles and had a plate of bacon and eggs on the back burner keeping warm for Dean; John was working on a cup of coffee and trying to pull rank with his partner at the garage to avoid explaining why he needed the time off; and Old Dean was staring at the fridge door, trying to figure out how the ice cube dispenser worked. Hearing Sam introduce Ash to Mary, Old Dean turned, startled, and swore in what might have been Old Norse. Ash did another double-take.

"Gabriel," Old Dean demanded of thin air, "I thought you said—"

"I did," Gabriel replied, appearing next to him. "And it's true. That's not your Asce; he's descended from Asce's older brother."

"... the hell have I walked into?" Ash breathed.

Sam cleared his throat nervously. "Uh, Ash, this is our I-don't-know-how-many-times-great grandfather Dean of Winchester, and our godfather, the archangel Gabriel." At Ash's blink, he added, "Chronos decided we needed some help. Not like we asked."

"Chronos decided you needed some help," Ash repeated flatly. "Your godfather is an archangel, and Chronos decided you needed some help."

"Yeah. That's... why Meg keeps attacking Samuel instead of me. She can't tell us apart."

"Way to sugar-coat it, Sam," Jess teased.

Ash rubbed his forehead as if he were getting a headache. "Wait. You've got gods and angels on your side, and you need _my_ help tracking one damn demon?!"

"It's complicated," everyone else replied, including John, who was finally off the phone.

"Chronos didn't exactly stick around after he dropped these two on us Saturday," Gabriel explained. "And for reasons that would take far too long to put in mortal terms, my baby brother and I can't track Meg ourselves—not least of which is that we can't let her know when we do find her. Human technology can fly under her radar."

"... your baby brother?"

Cas popped in at that point, regarding Ash curiously—from about two feet too close to him. Ash startled back a step.

"Cas," John rumbled. "Personal space."

"Sorry, D—John," Cas responded automatically and backed away a step or two. "Pardon my curiosity, Ash; you are a remarkable soul. I can see why... Sam requested your presence."

Jess frowned a little, wondering what Cas had stopped himself from saying. It must have had something to do with that other timeline, which probably meant she was better off not knowing.

Dean stumbled blindly into the kitchen at that point, ignoring everyone but Mary. "Please tell me I smell bacon," he rumbled as he reached for the coffee pot.

"No, honey, it's tofu," Mary teased and brushed a kiss on his cheek. "Of course you smell bacon."

Dean mumbled something that sounded vaguely like "Thanks, Mom," poured himself a mug of coffee, and took a long drink before his eyes finally focused on Ash. "Who's this?"

"This is Ash, Sam's computer genius friend."

Dean snorted. "That's not a genius; that's a Lynyrd Skynyrd roadie."

Ash grinned. "I like you."

The tension in the room eased as Dean grinned back, and Gabriel and Cas shared a knowing smile. Whatever else had happened to Ash in that other timeline, then, Jess suspected Sam wasn't the only Winchester to consider him a friend, and she found herself hoping that he would come through as well as the rest of the family should.


	5. Chapter 4: Cry Havoc

Chapter 4  
Cry Havoc

After breakfast, Ash asked Sam to come out to the car with him to help bring in his computer. Puzzled, Sam agreed. Once they were out the door, though, Ash rounded on him. "What the _hell_, man?!"

Sam sighed. "I'm sorry, dude. This all started Saturday; it's not like I've been hiding stuff from you. And Gabriel said you knew about hunting, so... I... thought this kind of thing would be pretty normal for you."

"Normal?! In what universe is having your ancestors grabbed out of the past considered normal?! Not to mention the archangel godfather thing—"

"Ash, I swear, I didn't know until two days ago. Before that, he was just Crazy Uncle Gabe."

"Do you have _any idea_ of the number of hunters who would hunt you down for considering supernatural creatures members of the family?"

Sam blinked. "But... they're angels."

"Most hunters don't think angels exist."

"Wu—well, what do we do? It's not like you just disown your godfather just because you find out he's God's Messenger."

Ash rubbed his forehead. "I dunno. I dunno. But listen, _amigo_, you gotta be more careful who you trust. And by that, I mean hunters, not... anyway. You're damn lucky I get it. Jo and Ellen will, too, and we'll keep it under our hats. Who else have you told?"

"Bobby Singer. And I can't remember if Dad's talked to Pastor Jim—Jim Murphy, he's a Lutheran pastor—"

"Up in Blue Earth. Yeah, we know him, and Bobby, too. They're safe enough. I can think of maybe two other hunters who would be just as trustworthy, though. If Jim or Bobby vouches for someone, you're probably okay, but don't tell anybody else if you don't have to. _¿Comprende?_"

Sam sighed again and nodded. "_Sí, comprendo_."

"_Bueno_. Here, I can get my rig if you can get the doors."

Sam followed him to his truck and held the door open as he retrieved a wild-looking homemade laptop from the back seat. Then he got the front door for Ash and followed him inside just as Samuel stumbled toward the downstairs powder room with a sleepy "G'm'rrow" and a bemused passing glance at both Ash and his machine.

"You can go back to bed if you need," Sam told him.

Samuel just nodded and disappeared into the powder room.

Mom and Jess had just finished clearing the breakfast table when Sam and Ash got back to the kitchen. To Old Dean's very great confusion and Dean's nod of engineering approval, Ash set up his rig while explaining some of the features of the tracking program he'd thrown together.

"Didn't have time to plug in any criteria, though," he added as he sat down. "What kinds of omens we lookin' at?"

Mom sat down beside him and rattled off some omens that had kicked up on Saturday, probably around the time Chronos had stumbled across Meg at Stull Cemetery. Cas confirmed those and added some other information about where they knew for sure Meg had been that weekend. Ash nodded, typed in the data as they talked, and ran a search to confirm what they already knew, placing Meg in Chicago between the first time she'd attacked Samuel and the time she showed up at the convent. Those data points in place, he expanded the search to cover both omens and potentially related disappearances or deaths in the period since the sighting in Ilchester; that search turned up a neo-Nazi meth head in Portland who'd had his throat slashed, along with more anomalies around Stull that had died down a couple of hours earlier.

"What's the significance of the murder?" Dad asked.

"Blood phone," Gabriel replied. "Demons use a chalice full of human blood to communicate over long distances."

Everyone but Mom, Ash, and Cas shuddered at that. And Sam couldn't help wondering just what Mom had seen growing up that had given her such nerves of steel when it came to this kind of thing.

"All right," Ash announced then. "I'll set this to track in real time. She's got all day, and if she's smart, she'll _take_ all day, probably jump all over the map. Be a hell of a job to try to catch up with her."

Dean shook his head. "No, we're not playin' catch-up. We just need to keep tabs on her, find out for sure where to take the victims back once we get 'em away from her."

Mom leaned back a little. "Ooh, good point. Do we free them as she brings them, or do we get them out once she's trapped?"

Just then Ash's computer dinged. "First match," he announced. "Missing persons report out of Columbus, Ohio—Catholic schoolgirl disappeared on her way to school."

"I'll go look," Cas stated and vanished. Before anyone could react much, he returned. "The girl is there, but Meg has warded a holding area with Enochian sigils to prevent Gabriel and me from entering. And it looks like the girl is both drugged and enspelled."

Dean registered his displeasure in Kurdish at the same time Old Dean did the same in Gaelic.

Dad leaned forward. "Okay, then. It's going to take human effort to get them out, which means we'll have to wait until Meg's in the trap. Mary, you think you can break the spell?"

Mom nodded. "If Cas can tell us how, I'm sure Samuel and I can manage it."

"I will need another look while we're sure Meg is away," Cas replied, "but it should not be too difficult."

Dad nodded, his eyes going slightly unfocused as he thought out loud. "We're expecting eight victims. My truck, Mary's car, the Impala—that should be plenty. Mary and Samuel, Sam and Jess, Dean can take the truck—"

"Dad," Dean interrupted at the same time Old Dean said, "John."

Dad blinked. "What?"

Dean shook his head. "I already called it."

"Called—no, son. No. I am not going to let you fight this demon. I want you safe."

One eyebrow went up. "Do I have to pull rank, _Corporal_?"

Sam gulped. Dean _never_ talked back to Dad like this, never mind bringing up (except as a joke) the fact that he was a commissioned officer and Dad was a non-com. Dad looked like he wasn't sure whether to be amused or mad.

Fortunately, Gabriel intervened. "Look, for this plan to work, we can't just wait until Meg's trapped. We need a diversion. And for that, I think Chronos had the right idea. We set up a shell game." And he clapped a hand on Old Dean's shoulder.

Old Dean grinned dangerously. "As you wish, old friend."

"Dean?" Samuel's weary voice interrupted from the doorway. "Is there any coffee left?"

Jess jumped up to tend to him, and Sam took advantage of the distraction to shoot Dean an incredulous look. Dean just shrugged an eyebrow and took a drink of his own coffee. Then he shot Sam a _You had __**better**__ take care of my car_ look, which Sam answered by raising his own mug with a _You know I will_ nod.

And Ash muttered something about "Damned eerie" and pointedly focused on his computer once more.

* * *

Once the plan was squared away, Dean discussed potential dialogue with Old Dean and coached him in keeping his accent more American, while Sam and Jess worked on hex bags that would hide them from Meg, and Mom and Samuel retired to the living room to research the counter-spell with Cas and Gabe. Ash stayed glued to his laptop, and Dad spent most of the day on the phone with a friend of his at the Lawrence Police Department, trying to make arrangements for someone to meet the convoy at the hospital once they got Meg's victims away from Stull and to come up with some kind of plausible cover story to explain both the case and the family's involvement. Finally, they decided to blame it on a Satanist doomsday cult and call Ash an undercover FBI profiler who had recruited Sam and Dean.

Dad apparently expected Ash to laugh when he heard, but Ash just waved it off, barely taking his attention away from his computer. "Ah. I told bigger lies at MIT."

Dad, Dean, and Jess all stared at him. Sam didn't seem surprised at all, which meant he probably already knew that tidbit.

Old Dean, clearly feeling out of his depth again, asked, "Er... what is MIT?"

"Massachusetts Institute of Technology," Dean replied. "It's a college—uh, do they have colleges in 1150?"

"Aye, St. George in the Castle has one for the canons. And there is talk of forming a university soon, like those in Paris and Bologna."

"Okay, awesome. MIT is a university, but sort of like a guild school, too; the focus is on science and technology. And it's one of the best in the world. Dude, seriously," Dean continued, addressing Ash, "_you_ went to MIT?!"

"'Til they kicked me out for fightin'." Ash grinned at him.

Dean laughed. "I almost went there—if I hadn't gotten into the Academy, it was a toss-up between MIT and Georgia Tech."

"Which Academy?"

"Annapolis."

"No foolin'! My cousin went there!"

The conversation was interrupted by a ding from the computer, but before they got back to their respective tasks, Dean and Ash gave each other a grin that promised lots of interesting engineering talk once the hunt was over.

Once he and Old Dean had gone over everything at least five times, though, Dean found time slowing to a crawl. They headed out to pack the car only to find that Sam and Jess had already done so. Old Dean then suggested that the two of them cook supper, just to have something to do, and after supper Dean called Amanda to check in and find out how the kids were getting along with Uncle Bobby (Johnny declared him "awesome!" and in spite of his persistent warnings to her against trying to ride Rumsfeld, Bobbi Jo said, "He's nif-fy!"). But still nightfall took forever to arrive, and even then Gabe counseled waiting for at least another hour to head toward Stull.

"She'll be aiming for midnight, so she'll start setting up the altar around 11:30," Gabe explained. "It's not _that_ far—maybe 30 minutes, even if it's raining, which it's likely to. We don't want to get there too early and risk her stumbling onto us, hex bags or no. It'll be safe to move into position once she steps into the trap to start the prep, but not before."

Dean sighed. "You sure we can't just shoot her without revealing ourselves?"

"Sorry, Deano. Not if we're going to keep those virgins alive. The spell's got a kill switch; if it's not broken first, killing the caster also kills the victim. Meg's really hedging her bets this time."

Dean called Meg a very unpleasant name in Arabic. Cas looked faintly surprised.

Gabe just nodded. "Pretty much."

Mom came over and rubbed Dean's shoulder. "I know, honey. Waiting was always one of the hardest parts for me, whether I wanted to be in on the hunt or not. Your Grandpa Campbell never liked it, either. But if Meg's not taking any chances, neither should we."

Dean ran a hand over his nose and mouth. "Yeah, yeah, I know. But—hell, it's _D-Day_. I just..."

"Want it over."

"Yeah."

"Yeah. We all do."

So naturally, that was the moment when Meg finally attacked Samuel again, which completely freaked Ash out—"and dude, I go to a snake-handlin' church!" The attack itself didn't last too long, thanks to Gabe being right there to pull Samuel out of it when it looked like he wasn't going to be able to break free on his own, but getting everyone calmed down and getting Samuel back on his feet took most of the hour. By then a storm had blown up west of town, so angels and humans alike agreed that they'd waited long enough. Ash stayed behind in case the police called, but everyone else split among the three vehicles—Sam and Jess in Dad's truck, Samuel in Mom's car, and Old Dean and the angels in the Impala—and the convoy rolled out in reasonably quick time.

About a tenth of a mile out from Stull, all three drivers killed their lights and engines and coasted to a stop at a turnout just beyond the eastern end of the cemetery. That corner was screened from roadside view by trees and brush, which made it a natural place for Meg to stash her victims until she was ready for them. While Cas silently pulled down a section of fence for the rescuers to move through, Dean handed his keys to Sam, then turned his attention to Gabe, who handed him a Colt Paterson 1836 and then picked up a stray branch to turn into a reasonable facsimile of the same gun for Old Dean. Gabe then snapped his fingers as quietly as possible, and Dean found himself in position behind a tombstone at the edge of the main part of the cemetery. Seconds later the cell phone in his pocket vibrated, letting him know that everyone else was set.

There was almost no light, with the new moon long since set and clouds obscuring the stars. The lights of the houses across the street didn't reach far enough to be of use, and even the skyglow from Lawrence wasn't having much effect. Dean couldn't suppress a shiver, even though it wasn't all that cold. He'd seen some dark nights in the Sandbox, and some of them had been pretty scary, but this darkness... it was just oppressive. Evil.

But then a bright flash of cloud-to-cloud lightning lit up the area—just long enough for Dean to see a female figure that had to be Meg set her altar down square in the middle of the trap. And he smiled coldly to himself. It was showtime.

As soon as the flash faded, Dean bear-crawled forward to the base of the short slope separating him from Meg, and he sensed more than saw Old Dean do the same. Once they were both in position, his eyes had readjusted to the dark enough for him to just catch Old Dean's go-ahead nod. He rose to a crouch, dusted himself off, then stood and walked up the slope to within easy earshot of Meg—while staying just outside the edge of the trap. She was intent on her work and didn't notice him.

"Excuse me, ma'am," he called, which succeeded in getting her attention. "May I ask what you're doin' out here?"

Lightning flashed again as Meg straightened, smirked, and started strolling toward him. "Oh, I think you know, Dean."

"Really."

"All those warnings I sent Little Brother?" She laughed. "And you still think you can stop me. Cute."

"Never know."

"You know, I have to admit, I've been curious about you for a long time. Angels haven't walked the earth in centuries unless there's been a prophet around to protect. You and Sam are clearly not prophets, but here you have two cut-rate angels hanging around you all the time."

"Cut-rate?"

She laughed again. "Why do you think I keep getting away from them? They're rebels, cut off from Heaven's power, and their batteries are running low. But they still chose your family—a mechanic, a hunter, and two brats—over their own." She stopped and gave him a searching once-over. "I wonder what makes you so special."

"Oh, I think you know, Meg," Dean heard his own voice say several yards away.

Meg gasped and turned just as lightning flashed again—and somehow, Gabe had managed to make Old Dean look exactly like Dean, down to height, haircut, and freckles. Had Dean not known that was the plan, he'd have been spooked; as it was, he was simply impressed.

"After all," Old Dean continued, "I am the man who killed your father."

"Or am I?" Dean picked up the thread as if he and Old Dean really were the same person. "I mean, 1148, that's a long time ago. Maybe I'm just a Jarhead who knows evil when he sees it."

"But maybe I'm not. Hell, maybe I'm not even real."

Meg's fists clenched. "Stop it."

"Stop what?" the Deans chorused, even shrugging at the same time. "I'm not doing anything."

She looked from one to the other for a moment, seething, before finally pulling herself together. "Speaking of Mommy Dearest, that's another puzzle. The Campbells were some of the best hunters around. Why'd Mary quit for some bland civilian life with a man like John?"

"Maybe she hated it," both men replied.

"Maybe she wanted us safe," Dean continued.

"Maybe she knew Hell hated her," Old Dean countered.

"Maybe she sees something in Dad that you don't."

"Maybe Dad saw something in her that no one else did."

Meg chuckled. "Or maybe John's not really your daddy." At Dean's startled frown, she added, "C'mon, Dean, you think an angel would stick around for just anyone? Pretty girl, lonely night—"

"That's a lie," Old Dean declared—or at least it was Old Dean's voice, though Dean thought they might be Gabe's words. "They didn't meet Mom until after she and Dad got married."

"And Mary would never be unfaithful?"

"Of course not," Dean shot back, and suddenly he felt Gabe's reassuring hand between his shoulder blades. "Nobody in our family would be."

Meg turned back to him. "Not even you? Face like yours, I would have pegged you for a player."

"I'm married," both Deans replied flatly.

"Before that, though?"

Old Dean's smirk was almost audible. "Maybe I was—"

"And maybe I wasn't," Dean added in turn. And he hadn't been. Amanda was his first, last, and only love, and they'd succeeded in waiting for marriage.

Meg's frustration was palpable. "You know, Dean, I'm going to enjoy killing you."

"Why?" both Deans replied. "I'm not a virgin."

"No, but when this is over, I'm gonna have sooo much fun with you. I'm gonna take my time. Maybe spoil your perfect little record when it comes to fidelity." She chuckled. "Maybe I'll even let little Sammy watch."

"Or maybe you won't."

"You see, Meg," Dean continued alone as Old Dean began moving away, following the edge of the trap, "only one of us is leaving this cemetery alive tonight, and it's not going to be you."

She laughed. "Like you can really kill me."

"Why not?" Old Dean returned. "I killed Azazel."

"Cas killed Alastair," Dean added.

"Samuel Colt killed your brother."

"You don't have the Colt," Meg fumed, trying to keep an eye on both Deans at once. "Daniel Elkins has the Colt. I _saw_ him with it just today! You haven't even left Lawrence!"

"Are you sure?" asked Old Dean.

"You don't think Cas coulda grabbed it in the meantime?" Dean jabbed.

"Dammit, I warded Elkins' house! It's angel-proof!"

"So there's no possible way I could have that gun."

"No way in Hell!"

As if on cue, Dean's phone vibrated again, and he smirked. "Just like there's no way in Hell an angel could have gotten those virgins away from you."

Meg frowned. "What—"

A brief flash of fire suddenly showed through the trees at the far end of the cemetery. Meg gasped and spun, searching the darkness for her victims, but then they all saw headlights flash on and heard engines rev and dirt crunch as the rescue convoy sped away toward Lawrence. Meg's shriek of dismay was cut off by another lightning flash that revealed that both Deans were now standing opposite each other, on the far sides of the trap, each aiming a Colt at her heart.

"No way in Hell," Old Dean repeated.

"But not no way on Earth," Dean noted.

Meg spun back and forth, seething as she tried to work out which Dean was real. "Why, you—"

As one, the Deans thumbed back their hammers. As one, they put their fingers on the triggers. As one, they said, "Goodbye, Meg."

But Meg had one last trick up her sleeve. Unsure which threat was real, she lashed out with both arms at once, and at the very second the gun's hammer struck home, Dean felt his feet leave the ground. Almost as if everything were happening in slow motion, he felt another force keeping his arm level long enough for the bullet to leave the barrel, so the bullet's aim remained true. And he saw Meg light up with hellfire when it struck her heart. But then time sped up again, and he found himself flying backward down the hill and landing hard back-first against something vertical and solid.

Something that let out a loud "OOF!" on impact.

In Gabe's voice.

Dean crumpled to the ground, badly winded but otherwise unhurt. A few moments later, Sam ran up to him, wild-eyed with panic. "Dean! DEAN!"

Dean panted loudly a couple of times. "Hey. I... I'm okay."

Sam pulled him to his feet and gave him a thorough once-over before he recognized the figure slumped over the square, pillar-like grave marker with a Gothic-style pointed top that would surely have broken Dean's back. "Un—Uncle _Gabe?!_"

"Cut-rate angel my eye," Gabe wheezed.

Sam went over to him. "Are you hurt?"

"Nah, just... just winded. Dean's... a lot heavier... than I thought."

Old Dean, Samuel, and Cas jogged down the hill toward them at that point. "What is't?" Samuel called. "Are all well?"

Dean gulped in a breath and nodded. "Will be."

Sam helped Gabe stand upright. "What—I mean—"

"'S... the one true thing... anyone saw... all weekend," Gabe explained, still working to catch his breath. "Not a healer... didn't know... if I could fix... a broken back. So."

Dean waited another couple of breaths and then pulled Gabe into a hug. "Thanks."

Gabe huffed and patted Dean's back gently. "Welcome, kiddo."

Once Dean let go of Gabe, he turned back to Sam and Samuel. "Wait, weren't you—"

"Did you seriously think I was leaving you here?" Sam interrupted.

Dean huffed and shook his head with a fond smile.

"Not only that," Samuel added. "'Twas faster to have two wains ready to move while Sam and I stayed to break the spell. And Impala remains for us to return."

Dean hadn't quite formulated a response to that when they heard tires on the road and headlights illuminated the group as a car drove past. He couldn't quite make out what kind of car it was, but it turned in at the cemetery entrance and drove up the drive toward them. Not until it pulled up even with them and stopped could Dean tell that it was a sheriff's deputy's car.

"Evenin'," the deputy said as he got out. "Understand there was a shooting out here."

"Yes," Old Dean replied, slipping easily back into an American accent. "We were here assisting the FBI, and the young lady attacked my cousin. He shot in self-defense."

The deputy looked over at Dean, who was still trying to catch his breath, and then turned back to Old Dean. "Young lady?"

"Her name is Meg Masters," Cas answered. "I understand that she was kidnapped from her university in Chicago some weeks ago. The kidnappers belonged to a doomsday cult and brainwashed her badly, then sent her here to attempt an occult ritual to contact one of the lords of Hell."

"And you are?"

And to Dean's very great though swiftly-hidden shock, Cas reached into his trench coat pocket and produced an FBI badge as if he did it every day. "Agent Moscone, FBI. I believe the Lawrence police were already informed of our operation."

The deputy eyed Cas skeptically and then radioed Lawrence PD's dispatcher to find out whether or not they had in fact been informed of an FBI op. Receiving confirmation that they had, he turned to Dean again. "You all right, sir?"

Dean nodded. "Winded. Fell down the hill, landed pretty hard."

"Suppose you'd better show me where it happened."

"Come this way, my son," said Samuel, which made the deputy double-take.

But Cas and Old Dean turned and headed up the hill, and Samuel was still holding his arm out inviting the deputy to follow. So follow he did, and Samuel fell into step beside him, answering questions as they walked.

Once they were out of earshot, Sam turned to Gabe, who was now grinning proudly after Cas. "Agent Moscone? How did you..."

"I didn't," Gabe replied. "That was Dean's doing—from that other timeline. I'm amazed he kept the damn thing, but I'm not gonna argue with the results."

Dean could only huff and shake his head.

A few minutes later, the others came back down the hill again, the deputy on his radio apparently calling for the coroner. After they answered a few more questions and made their written statements, the deputy announced that he would not be filing charges and gave the Winchesters permission to leave. Sam insisted on driving, and Dean didn't argue.

The car was pretty well silent on the way to the hospital, where Mom, Dad, and Jess met them in the ER waiting room. By then, both Dean and Gabe had pretty well recovered, and it didn't take long for a doctor to come out and announce that all of the victims would be fine. There were sighs of relief and hugs all around, and then the family trooped back out to the cars.

It was over. They'd won. But Dean, at least, was still in too much of a daze to feel much like celebrating.

"So," Dad said to Old Dean and Samuel in the parking lot. "Now that this is over... is this goodbye?"

Samuel looked at Old Dean, who shrugged. "I know not. 'Tis up to Gabriel, methinks."

Gabe tilted his head a little. "I don't mind waiting a couple of days, if you want to stay a little longer."

Sam piped up, "Um... could you make that three or four days?"

Gabe blinked. "Why?"

"So... maybe they could come to the wedding?"

Mom and Dad gasped, Dean whooped, and Jess planted a huge kiss on Sam.

Gabe laughed. "Sure, if they want!"

Samuel laughed, too. "Why not?"

"Why not, indeed?" Old Dean agreed with a grin.

So it was settled.


	6. Chapter 5: Loose Ends

Chapter 5  
Loose Ends

Kansas law mandated the three-day delay between getting the marriage license and having the actual wedding, but in the case of Sam and Jess, three days turned out to be almost too little time. Even drafting Ash to help, the family was busy from dawn to well after dark the entire week, making phone calls and arranging food and accommodations for everyone. Bobby brought Amanda and the kids down from Sioux Falls right away, and Pastor Jim rushed down from Blue Earth to perform the ceremony. Samuel and Old Dean ended up switching houses to stay with Gabriel and Cas, both to leave room for everyone who needed to be in John and Mary's house and to stay out of the worst of the bustle that they couldn't help much with. Anxious to do something, however, Old Dean took charge of as much of the cooking as he could do with modern ingredients, utensils, and appliances, and Samuel helped—when he wasn't busy reading every book he could get his hands on, that is.

The only real snag in the proceedings was dealing with Jess' parents. The Moores had met Sam and approved of him; they had met Dean and Amanda and provisionally approved of the rest of the family. But Mrs. Moore had evidently been planning a major blowout of a church wedding, with a fancy dress and a catered reception and all that jazz, and she was not best pleased that what Jess was planning was, from her point of view, practically an elopement. Jess pleaded that the rush was only to allow Sam's "cousins" to attend before they had to go back to England, but Mrs. Moore wouldn't budge.

Finally, Jess sighed as Sam rubbed her back gently. "Okay, Mom. If you don't want to come, you don't have to come. We'll send you a video."

"Jess—"

"Mom, we're getting married Friday. And that's final."

"You are seriously willing to put _that boy_ above your own family?!"

"Honestly? Yes." Jess slipped her hand into Sam's. "I know where I belong now."

"Now, you listen to me, Jessica Lee—"

"Bye, Mom." And Jess hung up.

Sam studied her face. "You're sure?"

She nodded. "I'm sure. I love your family, Sam, and I love you. I didn't want a big wedding, and I don't want to think about how my family would have reacted to what we've just been through. And besides," she added with a twinkle, "this way she won't have to find out quite so soon what we're planning to do after graduation."

He smiled. "What would I do without you?"

"Crash and burn."

He kissed her.

* * *

Gabriel and Castiel had the larger backyard, so Friday's preparations largely involved setting up a trellis and chairs in their yard and the reception meal in their combined living and dining room. Castiel bought the cakes, plus a cherry pie for Dean, and Gabriel snapped the trellis full of tea roses. A few of Sam's high school friends happened to be in town, so they contributed champagne and a handful of wedding presents, and some of the couple's friends from Stanford sent flowers and a fruit basket.

Samuel had a hunch, though, and set up a small holy water font at the entrance to the backyard. The hunters all knew what to do with it, as did the Catholics and Lutherans, and the few Baptists who came succumbed to Samuel's puppy eyes and anointed themselves as well. Only one guest did not—and his presence surprised Sam.

"Brady!" Sam called, walking over as the unexpected guest shied away from Gabriel's glance. "Dude, what are you doing here?"

Brady grinned. "Just had to be here for my best bud. Need a groomsman?"

"None of thy help is needed, _fiend_," Old Dean growled, coming around the font with Samuel to intercept him.

Brady laughed, startled. "What? What the—"

"_Exorcisamus te, omnis immundus spiritus_," Samuel interrupted.

Brady turned to bolt, but Castiel grabbed him and held him until Samuel finished the exorcism. The non-hunters murmured and stared as the demon came roaring out and Brady slumped back in Castiel's hold, but Castiel eased him gently into a chair, and Ash ran inside and brought out a glass of water just as Brady came around.

"Sam?" he asked weakly, looking around in shock. "What—where am I?"

"We're in Lawrence," Sam prompted. "It's almost noon. My wedding's supposed to start in, like, five minutes."

Brady blinked. "Wedding? In Lawrence? Wait, what... what day is it?"

"It's Friday. June 10."

"Friday? I... I don't... I can't remember anything after Monday."

"You were possessed," Castiel informed him as Ash pushed the water glass into his hand. "The demon sought to avenge something that happened Monday night."

Brady took a drink and looked at Sam, who nodded. Then he swore quietly and took another drink.

"You okay?" Sam asked.

Brady nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I will be." After a few more drinks of water, he suddenly said, "Wait. You—you and _Jess_?"

Sam grinned. "Yup."

Brady laughed. "Dude, that's wonderful! Glad I'm not going to miss it!"

Then the organ music CD started, and everyone rushed back to his place.

The hiccup with Brady aside, the wedding went off without a hitch, as did the reception meal. But the gifts, on Bobby's advice, were packed off to John and Mary's house to be opened after Sam and Jess got back from their short honeymoon in the Ozarks. "I don't wanna have to explain the bullet mold and silver knife," he confided to Gabriel, who laughed.

Amanda broke up the party first, since Johnny and Bobbi Jo needed to head back to John and Mary's house to nap. Not until the other guests from Lawrence had left did Castiel offer to take Brady back to Palo Alto, an offer Brady bemusedly accepted. Bobby, Jim, Ash, John, and Mary said their farewells shortly after that and headed back to the Winchesters' house.

But Sam, Jess, and Dean found it hard to tear themselves away, and they stayed another couple of hours, chatting with the older Winchesters. Finally, Amanda called to ask whether Dean was planning to stay there for supper; Dean guiltily agreed to eat with the rest of the family.

He sighed as he hung up. "Sorry. I know you guys need to get home. It's just... knowing we're never gonna see you again..."

His namesake nodded. "'Tis the same for us. But mayhap we shall meet again hereafter."

"I know you really didn't have any choice in the matter, but... thanks."

"For everything," Sam added.

"It was our pleasure, children," Old Dean replied. "You bring honor to our family. I am proud to call you mine. And I am glad to have freed you from such evil."

"As am I," Samuel agreed.

A round of tearful hugs followed, and then Dean and the newlyweds finally left. And Gabriel was alone with the last loose ends that needed tying up.

Dean of Winchester, no longer in need of an adjective to keep his identity straight, took his brother's hand and sighed. "Are we ready?"

"Not quite," Gabriel answered and snapped his fingers, turning Dean's modern clothes into the clothes he'd been wearing when Chronos dropped the brothers outside Lake Tahoe.

Once he saw that he was back in his own clothes, Dean looked at Gabriel again. "Will we recall aught?"

Gabriel shrugged. "That's up to you. Honestly, I don't know if I'm up to wiping your memories completely on top of taking you back; that's a long hike, even for me. And those kinds of blocks never work perfectly anyway. If you think you might have trouble keeping it all secret, though, I can dull the memories when I undo the language fix. You won't forget, but it would be like remembering a dream. I can even knock you out for a short time before I take you back."

Dean looked at Samuel, who nodded. "Aye, that... that might be best. Only—"

"I'll explain to Aelred."

Samuel blew out a relieved breath. "Then aye. 'Twould be easier not to have to explain what I cannot recall in full."

Dean nodded thoughtfully. "Aye, there is that."

Gabriel nodded back and shifted his clothing to the Cistercian robes he'd worn the last time he'd been at Rievaulx. "All right, then. When you're ready."

Both brothers nodded. Gabriel snapped his fingers, making all of the changes at once and knocking them out, then caught each by the shoulder as they fell and pulled them back to 1150.

The guesthouse was in an uproar when they arrived, Aelred and the brothers scouring the room to try to find any trace of Samuel and Dean. Everyone went still in awe, though, as Gabriel eased Samuel and Dean back into the seats Chronos had taken them from.

As Gabriel turned, Aelred began to fall to his knees. "St. Gabriel..."

Gabriel held up a hand. "Please, Aelred, I have told thee, do not kneel before me. I am a fellow servant with thee, and I come only to return these men to thy care. They were not taken at my order, but I have had need of them. But do not ask them what has happened; even were it lawful for them to speak of it, they will recall little, save as a dream."

Aelred nodded, still stunned, but caught himself and stood up straight again. "I... I trust dear Brother Samuel has given satisfaction?"

Gabriel smiled. "Perfect satisfaction."

Samuel and Dean stirred then, blinking and frowning around drowsily. And Dean did a double-take when he saw Gabriel. "G-Gabriel?" he asked.

"Yes, Dean. I was just on my way."

Dean nodded vaguely—and suddenly swallowed hard. "Er, Gabriel, I... that is, would you mind... I-I would fain..."

Gabriel blinked. "You want a ride home?"

Dean nodded eagerly. "An—an Sammy..."

Looking somewhat queasy, Samuel nodded and waved vaguely. "Go, brother. Do what thou must."

And suddenly Gabriel understood and smiled. "Very well." He snapped his fingers, and Dean's sword and gear returned to his side. Then Gabriel nodded to everyone, laid a hand on Dean's shoulder, and flew straight to Oxford, depositing Dean a few steps outside the door of the Eagle and Child. Another snap of the fingers returned Dean's horse to the stable.

Dean looked at him. "My thanks."

Gabriel grinned, nodded, and vanished—but he didn't leave just yet. Rather, remaining invisible, he popped into the inn and found Joanna at a table in the common room, mending her gear after having taken a brief hunt with Rufus while Dean was away. He touched her back gently, which she registered only as a wave of intense longing for Dean that left her breathless. She drew in a deep breath and looked up at the door... just as Dean hurried in, scanning the room for her.

"Dean!" Ellen and Asce exclaimed at the same time, surprised to see him back so soon.

But Dean and Joanna had eyes only for each other and rushed to meet in the middle of the room. "Joanna, I—" Dean began, but Joanna grabbed him and kissed him hard enough to elicit some very undignified noises.

"An ye wish to play like beasts," Ellen grumbled good-naturedly, "take the room above the stables."

"My thanks," Dean gasped as Joanna released him and started pulling him toward the back door, though he was just as anxious to get out of there as she was. "And pray!"

"For what?"

"A grandchild!"

Chuckling to himself as the door banged shut behind the excited couple, Gabriel left the pub and headed home. Of course, Dean would want to get the family started ASAP after the experience he'd just had... and of course, Gabriel had to leave them a parting gift.

* * *

It took little time for Joanna to feel the first signs of being with child, much to Dean's mingled delight and dismay. There followed no little disagreement over what she could and could not do, both in the inn and in the hunt, but finally Brother Asce proposed that Joanna take only easy hunts and only when joined by Dean. That accord held until about the time the child quickened—or rather child_ren_, as the midwife was able to make out at least two and thought they were belike both boys. Joanna began tiring more easily, and it took more and smaller meals for her to keep up her strength. Dean stated then that they should both stop hunting, and he held to that purpose, though as Ellen warned him might be so, there were times when a very cross Joanna tired of his presence and practically pushed him out the door to take a hunt.

As Joanna neared the time of her lying-in, however, Dean left the inn only to go to market for Ellen. And the beginning of the ninth month saw a series of friends arriving: Father Seamus, Robert and Rufus, and Cynehunde and his new wife, a wise-woman named Pamela. Abbot Aelred even found some errand on which to send Samuel to Oxenford and gave him leave to stay with the family rather than with the canons of Osney or St. Frideswide; the former house was in the midst of construction and could ill afford to lodge guests, and the latter was in disgrace over its dishonest dealings regarding St. Aldate's Church. His reasons were sound, and neither the journey nor the lodging was indefensible by Cistercian rules, but they all knew better than to expect such a gift in the future.

A bare hour had Samuel been settled at the inn when Joanna's time came, so the men kept Dean distracted with tales and songs while the womenfolk hurried Joanna into the birthing room. It seemed an age before Joanna's cries were joined by the wail of a babe, and Dean was still in a daze when Pamela returned to the common room with a linen-wrapped, very fussy bundle.

She smiled as she gently placed the tiny burden in his arms. "Your firstborn, Dean—a strong son."

The bairn quieted in Dean's hold, and Dean's breath fled in a quiet "Oh!" Some heartbeats passed ere he could say, "John Robert I dub thee, my dear one."

Pamela's smile grew as she left, and Robert sniffled and flushed, while the other men pounded Dean's back and drank his health and young John's.

Presently the second babe cried, and again Pamela returned. "Another son!"

Dean felt almost giddy as he took the other lad. "James," he declared more easily. "James Rufus is his name."

Father Seamus squeezed his shoulder, and Rufus spluttered but puffed up like a pigeon, and another round was drunk.

And then Joanna cried out again—and her voice was joined by another babe's cry.

Startled, Pamela ran back to the birthing room. But it was Ellen who entered the public room moments later, flushed and beaming.

"Joanna is well," quoth she, "as is our last surprise: this little maid." And as Dean's arms were already full, she placed the babe in Samuel's arms.

"Oh," Samuel breathed. "Oh, Dean, she favors thee!"

Ellen patted Samuel's shoulder and looked at Dean again. "'Twill take but a few moments more, Dean, but she will want thee and thy wee ones back again after the christening."

Dean could only nod. Ellen smiled again and left.

"What think you for a name, Dean?" Cynehunde asked.

Dean shook his head. "We... we'd given no thought to a maid-child. Sammy?"

Samuel studied the lass sagely for a long moment before answering, "Jessica. Her name is Jessica."

And as the wassail rang out again and he and Samuel grinned at each other, Dean somehow felt the last bolt securing the future they had made slide home.


	7. Epilogue

Epilogue

_January 2007_

It had been a little over a year and a half since Meg's death. In that time, Dean had finished his hitch with the Marines and moved the family (with the new addition of Jimmy Cas, which had flustered Castiel no end) to Sioux Falls in order to become Bobby's staff mechanic. Sam and Jess had finished their schooling and found jobs in Blue Earth. And all three of them had begun hunting when time and safety allowed, as had John and Mary. Amanda had been extremely skeptical about the whole thing until the night she and Dean caught a shtriga trying to feed on Johnny; Dean promptly killed it, and now Amanda had given him her blessing to hunt, though she felt that the kids needed to be her top priority and had decided not to participate herself.

Gabriel tried not to interfere much, apart from warning the boys away from potentially disastrous hunts like the rawhead that, in the other timeline, had landed Dean in the hospital and then at Roy Le Grange's "faith healing" services. Those he took care of himself. But for the most part, he knew the kids needed to live and learn, even if it meant taking a few lumps and gashes and broken bones. They couldn't grow as hunters or as a family if they weren't free to make their own mistakes.

But this time there was no point in warning the kids off. They were on their way before Gabriel realized where they were headed, and even if they hadn't been, this was one confrontation that needed to happen. It just couldn't happen quite the way it had before.

So he went to the too-familiar college and waited until the too-familiar figure entered the too-familiar janitor's closet. Then he locked the door, cleared his throat, and revealed himself.

"Hello, Gabriel," he said.

Gabriel Prime looked him over contemptuously. "What the hells do you want?"

"I'm here on behalf of my godsons. They're hunters. Sam and Dean Winchester."

"I shoulda known. I _should. have. known._"

"You can leave. I can tell them I took care of it."

"Yeah, like you took care of the plan?"

"That wasn't Dad's plan."

"Look, this is all your fault!"

Gabriel scoffed. "_My_ fault?"

"Yes, you and Castiel. You think I don't know? It could have been _over_, you muttonhead! Instead, Michael's been arguing with Raphael, Zachariah, and Uriel for centuries about how to fix it! So I got out of there the second Cailean Mór offed Loki."

"It _wasn't Dad's plan_, idiot. Sam and Dean woulda found a way to stuff Luci back in his box. There's no way it would have been over. And even if they hadn't, do you have any idea what you'd _lose_ no matter who wins? The food, the fun, the girls—when it all ends, it _all ends_. Dad doesn't want that any more than we do."

Gabriel Prime snorted. "Sure, you and Castiel are the only ones doing Dad's will. And look at you: cut off from the Host, your grace fading from those little jaunts to the past and so many years in human form. You're pathetic." He manifested his sword. "I ought to end you here and now."

But Gabriel was ready for the attack when it came. Not only did he parry Gabriel Prime's thrust, the same move disarmed the other rebel, and another quick swing sliced Gabriel Prime's right hand open. Gabriel Prime cried out and stared at Gabriel in astonishment, the more so as Gabriel cut his own left hand.

"May the Lord judge between me and thee," he said and clamped his hand down on Gabriel Prime's such that the cuts matched. He felt a shock as Gabriel Prime screamed, and a light that was blinding even to an angel enveloped them.

* * *

Sam and Dean were discussing strategy in the parking lot when a sudden bright light caught their attention. Immediately, they charged into the building, racing through the halls until they came to the door behind which the flash was already fading. Dean pounded on it, and the door seemed to open of its own accord.

There, much to the brothers' astonishment, stood Gabe—and though Dean didn't exactly have the Sight the way Sam did, even he could sense that something had changed. Gabe felt much more like an archangel than he ever had before. A cut was rapidly fading on his left hand. And at his feet lay someone who could have been his exact double, were it not for the slight difference in apparent age, the janitor's uniform... and the dots around the double's mouth that almost looked like stitch marks. The double was looking up in breathless fear at Gabe and at the short sword Gabe was holding.

"Uncle Gabe?" Sam ventured. "Is... is everything okay?"

"It is now, Short Stuff," Gabe returned. "Gentlemen, I'd like to introduce you to Loki."

**Explicit Libri Tertii Gestum Angelorum Gabriel et Castiel**  
**Fratrorumque Decanum et Samuel... et Decanum et Samuel**


End file.
